


Two Marshals for Sister Sheryl

by Bujyo



Category: In Plain Sight
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-02-20 08:50:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 101,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2422619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bujyo/pseuds/Bujyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dude ranch adventures for our favorite Marshals! Sucked into protection duty, their jobs rely on subterfuge, cleverness and a whole bunch of luck. The bad guys are bad and the OCs are a story in themselves. Yeehaw!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wyatt Earp

**_"All right Clanton, you called down the thunder and now you've got it. You see that? It says United States Marshal. Take a good look at him, Ike, because that's how you're gonna end up. The cowboys are finished you understand me? I see a red sash, I kill the man wearing it. So run, you cur, run, tell all the other curs that the law is coming, you tell'em I'm coming, and Hell's coming with me you hear? Hell's coming with me."_ **

**– _Tombstone_**

**_"Anybody that doesn't want to get killed best clear on out the back."_ **

_**\- Unforgiven** _

* * *

As the day grew long, the inside of the SUV felt less like a blast furnace and more akin to a spring day in Hell. Mary folded her arm atop the passenger door, resting her chin on her forearm in an attempt to get her head far enough out the window to catch the slight breeze now ruffling the leaves on the creosote bushes and sparse stand of junipers that only teased them with shade. The angle of the sun had finally allowed for a respite from the nearly overpowering heat of the desert afternoon, and the approaching evening seduced the weary marshals with a soft, shifting breeze that carried the scent of sage.

Mary pulled the material of her tank top away from her chest in order to coax the cooler air down to meet the sweat trickling into her cleavage as she again cursed the climate of the lower elevation.  _Late spring, my ass_ , she mentally groused. It seemed as though there was always a great karmic frown turned upon them during long stakeouts. The work of some sadistic weather god that took great delight in conjuring up the most uncomfortable of conditions whenever they parked a vehicle with plans to remain in it for more than a few hours.

_Well_ , she thought, squinting at the cluster of buildings down the road that appeared to shimmer through the heated air,  _at least it's not freezing and raining and I'd have to spend the next four hours thawing out_. Motel room air conditioning and a cool shower would quickly remedy both the crystallized layer of dried sweat and partially cooked internal organs before happy hour in the bar was over. Small consolations.

Her internal debate regarding which of the alcoholic offerings in said bar would be the most refreshing was interrupted by the echoing keen of a hawk and the muffled curse from her partner in the driver's seat. Shifting her head in order to peer at him, Mary couldn't help but grin at Marshall's frustration as he manipulated the length of rope in his hands.

"I know a guy who could show you how to tie a perfectly good knot in less than ten seconds," she teased. "Hold just about anything in place."

Marshall snorted as he shook the rope out again. "As I'm not planning on tying the horses to the headboard, I doubt his knowledge would help me here." He proceeded to mutter to himself while again folding and twisting the rope, and Mary cocked an eyebrow as he held up the final product with a soft crow of victory.

"Hold out your arm," he instructed.

Mary, bored and uninterested in mounting an argument, did his bidding. Marshall tossed the loop of rope over her hand with a flourish and cinched the slipknot around her wrist with a slight tug. "Voila!"

"Shouldn't that be 'yeehaw?'" she asked, testing the strength of the lasso with a few tugs.

Marshall ignored her. "Observe the honda knot. Used by gauchos, vaqueros, wranglers and other such manly men to capture and control everything from the majestic and wild mustang to the willful and equally wild saloon girl." He gave the loop another tug to emphasize his point, and the strand unraveled, freeing Mary's hand and landing in his lap.

Mary chuckled. "And, once again, it's obvious you won't be riding bucking broncos of any species."

"It was a good knot," Marshall protested, peeved.

He coiled the rope as Mary took a drink from her water bottle and stretched, his fingers stilling as he couldn't help but be distracted by the visual smorgasbord of anatomy displayed in the seat next to him. The heat had forced them both down to their t-shirts, and hers was hard pressed to contain her as she strained against it. His jeans would be joining the struggle shortly if he didn't refocus his gaze upon their objective nearly a mile down the road; visions of lassos, corsets and wrists loosely bound above a tousled mane of blonde hair hardly an appropriate train of thought to board during their wait.

Marshall was saved from further torture a few minutes later as a number of cars began to exit the small parking lot near one of the buildings on the property under surveillance. Switching mental gears, he sat up to grab the binoculars off the dashboard and quickly focused the lenses to give him a clear view of the individual vehicles.

"Tan Chevy Impala," he began rattling off descriptions, no need to ask if his partner was at the ready with the iPad. "Front passenger door, black primer. Plate number WE5 UX8. Single occupant, male." Marshall continued to supply Mary with descriptions and discrepancies, allowing her to add the information to the already catalogued comings and goings of the denizens of the Circle R Ranch, covertly observed for the last four days.

They had noted shift workers, early risers, latecomers and permanent residents. Reconciled the schedule of daily events on the Ranch's visitor brochure against the observed times of events as they occurred on the property. Identified both guests and employees and their typical interactions throughout the day and into the night. Notes had been discussed, diagrams created and expectations set as the pair of marshals used this information to ready themselves for the tasks of the week ahead.

"Remind me again why the humps in ICE aren't sweating their balls off in the desert and we are?" Mary grumbled as she tapped a few more icons to email the information to the USMS analysts and Stan. "It's their fucking party, after all."

Marshall continued to peer through the binoculars. "That question makes me wonder whether all the years of staring at your ass have been for naught."

Mary smiled crookedly as she glanced at her partner. Beads of sweat had gathered on his neck and his t-shirt sported more damp spots than dry. He was likely just as uncomfortable as she was, and his usual veneer of aloof civility was wearing thin.

"One of these days, I'm going to show up at work in hot pants and a halter top just to watch you spontaneously combust," she countered, attention back on the iPad in her lap.

Marshall hoped she didn't notice him fumble the binoculars as he shot her a sharp look. Mary's stomach took advantage of his inability to form a reply and complained loudly about their late dinner.

"Mmmhmm. Your attempt to engage me in discussions of workplace depravity are only a poor substitute for what you really crave; something deep fried and kept warm by a little can of butane." He tucked the binoculars back into their case as the ranch traffic tapered off.

Mary chuckled as she finished her task, then stowed the iPad also. "Let's take this show back to the motel. There're free chalupas in the lobby, and I need to shower before I can think clearly enough to coordinate with Stan and Agent Tallywhacker."

"Taliswell," Marshall corrected, starting the car and cranking the air to its highest setting.

/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/

Mary was infinitely cooler as she let herself into Marshall's room an hour later. Sweat and grime had swirled down the shower drain with a good portion of fatigue, and she actually felt alert enough to tackle the complicated process of finalizing the choreography for their dance of subterfuge in the upcoming week. A performance of effortless insertion and extraction, with artistry and charisma distracting all from watching what you were really doing too carefully. Suspension of disbelief, and a well hidden back-up piece in case the audience got too curious.

She was never one for scripted performances. Never blended in. Always brash and quick to react, Mary would never have been described as a wallflower. Since the first day of Kindergarten when she climbed the swing set and refused to come down in protest of nap time, she had been obnoxious and nearly fearless in her demand to be heard. Undercover operations were not her cup of tea, but Stan insisted, and Marshall reassured her she would be able to be her normal, disagreeable self with the added bonus of gratuitous cowboy ogling. They didn't tell her she was going to actually have to ride a horse until yesterday.

" _I don't ride," Mary hissed for the hundredth time._

" _Yes, you do," Marshall said. "I've seen you ride a number of times."_

" _I wasn't riding, you moron, I was hanging on for dear life. The horse knew I was going to have its balls for trophies if it so much as sneezed."_

" _It's a working ranch, Inspector," Stan chimed in from the video feed. "The guests are there to partake in the everyday working responsibilities. That includes riding…daily. You'll be fine. Marshall will make sure you're assigned a well behaved mount."_

" _I'm pretty sure she prefers poorly behaved mounts," Marshall murmured, too low for Stan to hear, and was rewarded with a dark sneer from his partner._

" _He's to stay away from my horse." Mary pointed a finger at Marshall in warning. "I'll be riding upside down and backwards if he has his preference."_

" _Giddy up," Marshall replied, smiling widely._

Again cursing under her breath, Mary entered Marshall's room and immediately broke out in goosebumps. It must've been only a few degrees above arctic in the dim room, and as she rubbed her arms briskly her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She noted the array of electronics laid out along the table, dresser and sprinkled across the bed.

"Jesus, Marshall, did you dry hump the whole Geek Squad for this stuff?" Mary couldn't identify much beyond the usual PCs, scanners and a GPS unit. "When did you get all this?"

Marshall's voice emanated from under the desk in the corner, "Unfortunately, the fine community of Tucumcari, New Mexico does not benefit from the talents of a Geek Squad. And even if it did, I've found that politely requesting the use of technology from our fellow DOJ agencies produces desirable results."

"Yeah, right," Mary said, picking up a small, handheld gizmo with a miniature control stick. "People owe you favors, don't they?"

"Yep, pretty much," Marshall replied, sticking his head out from under the desk to see what she was doing. "Don't touch anything."

The device Mary held gave a defeated 'bleep' as the screen went black, and she grimaced while placing it delicately back onto the bedspread, surreptitiously glancing Marshall's way to see if he noticed. She continued to rub her arms for warmth while suspiciously eyeing a few other futuristic widgets decorating the room.

"Seriously, what  _is_ this crap and why do we have it  _now_? As of tomorrow we're out of here and at the ranch." She peered at a baggie full of what looked like buttons as she wondered if her brain had the capacity to process yet one more piece of information concerning the operation.

Mary was unaware that Marshall had come up behind her until he draped his jacket over her shoulders. She startled, and he steadied her by leaving one arm around her as he leaned in to snag the little baggie she had been looking at. His scent settled around her shoulders and danced in her hair as his breath tickled her ear, and an unexpected endorphin cascade galloped through her gut.  _Awareness_. A visceral tingle. Electric jolts teasing sensitive tissues. She found herself holding her breath in surprise as his presence enveloped her, overloaded synapses chasing cause and effect that tried to scatter like the wind. Realizing Marshall was talking, Mary forced herself to focus.

"…button cam. We'll both have a few sewn into various pieces of clothing."

Mary's fledgling attempt to re-join rationality fell well short of flight as Marshall then reflexively scooped her hair into his hand and pulled it clear of the jacket to fall free down her back. A gesture she had become used to over the years; one of many quirky manners she had failed to beat out of him. The brush of his fingers against the nape of her neck. The gentle tug of those digits in her hair as he then smoothed the mane against the jacket. Mary moaned softly as sensation zinged through her veins.

"I know you hate working with video feeds, Mare." Marshall misinterpreted her vocalism as displeasure and stepped back. "But I really just need to see what you see the first day or so in order to catalogue all the faces and places. After that, I'll have Agent Taliswell turn them to stand-by."

She missed his presence immediately, shivering both from lack of heat and some until-now latent want. Tracking him peripherally as he picked up the next object of interest, Mary mentally flogged her errant libido into submission and vowed to interrogate it later. They must've spent way too much time in that oven of a truck over the last few days. Her brain was decidedly cooked. Tugging the jacket tightly around her shoulders, she concentrated on her partner's ongoing litany of techo-jargon.

A few minutes later, during a particularly mind numbing exposition on gigabytes and data port expansion, Mary realized what he had recently said.

"What do you mean 'you need to see what I see?'" she asked, interrupting him. "I thought we were both going to be on the ranch."

"You're going in with this next group of guests arriving tomorrow morning," Marshall reminded her. "I have to be inserted with the summer crew of ranch hands and wranglers. They're not due until day after tomorrow. So glad to know you've been paying attention." He sounded irritated.

Mary huffed at him. "You're the detail man. I just ride along to make sure you don't get your ass shot off. I know what I need to know. Trying to shove all the rest in there just makes a mess." She picked up another interesting looking device and turned it over in a quest for a power button. "We didn't all major in OCD 101."

Marshall plucked her prize from her fingers and leveled a suffering gaze at her. "You minored in stats, Mary. You  _choose_  not to wallow in detail. Would you at least pretend to know the game plan this time? Humor me. This could be dangerous."

She met his gaze and saw the seriousness. "It's always dangerous, idiot. When have you ever known me to let my guard down?"

Reaching out, he straightened the collar of his jacket against her neck with one hand, dropping his gaze for a moment before looking back at her with a sigh. "It only takes a second."

She thought of fights in the desert and confrontations on porches. Moments of unguarded emotion that resulted in near tragedy. Time that couldn't be regained nor forgotten, and her gut clenched with the remembrance of near loss.

"Hey," Marshall called her back to the present softly, the back of his index finger barely stroking her jaw. Mary looked up to be captured by the deepening blue of his gaze.

A loud knock at the door occurred simultaneously with the ring of Mary's cell, and both marshals visibly startled. Chuckling nervously, Marshall rubbed his face as he stepped towards the door. "Taliswell, I'm sure. Right on time."

Mary just shook her head before answering her phone sharply, the past few minutes a confusing jumble of confusing emotions. It was time to step back into reality. This show needed to get on the road before players forgot the script.


	2. Wild Bill Hickok

_**"Be careful... you're a man who makes people afraid, and that's dangerous."** _   
_**"Well, it's what people know about themselves inside that makes 'em afraid."** _

_**–** High Plains Drifter_

_**"When I start out to find somebody... I find him. That's why they pay me."** _

_**–** The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly_

* * *

Sheryl ran the vacuum over the coffee colored carpet, the mundane task somehow soothing to her perpetually raw nerves of late. This was her last room to clean in the main building of the Circle R Ranch; the staff break room on the administrative floor. She was humming her daughter's latest favorite tune, not able to escape the song as Leanne seemed to play it incessantly on her iPod lately. It was a catchy tune, at least, and Sheryl bobbed her head to her own rhythm as she finished up the carpet. The break room always smelled like slightly burnt coffee and stale doughnuts, but it had a number of cozy, overstuffed chairs that she used for her own break.  _Starting…now_. She smiled as she stared at her watch.

Pulling her snack bag and book from her backpack on the table, she felt momentarily guilty for not walking the half mile back to her own apartment to check in on the kids, but she had been hesitant about wandering the ranch grounds after dark since first talking to the FBI four weeks ago. Always worried there was someone watching her and she would somehow give herself away. It was still hard to believe her simple report of a possible kidnapping had ballooned into this…thing. She didn't even know what to call it at this point, just knew there would be people here soon who could protect her; protect her family. Her decision to turn herself over to them still gave her cramps in the middle of the night, but a lifetime of having to hang on by her fingernails to survive didn't make her wishy-washy. It was time to move on.

The ranch house was quiet, all the administrative staff gone home long ago and the live-in staff now ensconced in their own cabins close by. The night staff was sparse; two housekeepers, a few cowhands that kept watch on the stabled animals, and one of the two ranch managers to attend to any guest issues during the dark hours. Shaking her head slightly to dispel parental guilt, Sheryl reassured herself that Maggie had the kids tucked in at least an hour ago, and her presence in the apartment would only be an intrusion at this point.

Finding the older woman to nanny a few months ago had been a godsend, and Sheryl was loath to rock that boat. The woman insisted on a nominal salary, seemingly happy to have the chance to care for a family again. Sheryl suspected she was just lonely and would've probably worked for nothing, a rarity in this day and age, and she had grown to trust the small, portly woman more quickly than she had expected. When Maggie had told her the story of her missing granddaughter, Sheryl's heart went out to her. As she learned more, she knew she couldn't stand by and do nothing. For the first time in her life, she had stuck her neck out for another person besides her children. It was terrifying.

Sheryl had just lifted her feet off the ground as she settled into a chair when she heard the muted voices through the thin wall between the break room and the offices.

"Listen," a male voice scolded. "I don't care if you have to whore out your sister to get the cash, you better have three trucks available for the pick up on Sunday."

Sheryl recognized her brother-in-law's baritone and suppressed a shiver of misgiving as she continued to listen, hands frozen above her snack so as not to disturb the wrapper.

"Christ, Brad," a deeper voice replied. "We can't have a fucking caravan traveling those roads at that time of night. I'm telling you the feds are sniffing at this, and that sort of activity in the middle of the goddamn desert is going to draw attention."

"Do you think I'm fucking stupid?" Brad asked. "I'm not taking all the trucks in or out at once. We'll stagger pick-up, and the route to the final drop will vary with each transport. We just need to get the deliveries made within a twenty-four hour window."

There was a brief silence, and Sheryl unfolded slowly from the chair, silently praying for stealth plus speed, but knowing she couldn't attain both. She wanted to be out of the room before the men finished this conversation and exited the office. Her stomach roiled with anxiety. She quickly stuffed her snack bag into her pack as her brother-in-law spoke again.

"We've got the big cattle round-up all day Friday. Even if someone is watching us, all they're going to see is a bunch of greenhorns chasing their own asses across the mesa as the damn cows run amok. Meanwhile, we use that distraction to herd our own cattle. By the time the steers are rustled into the Redpoint corral and we start loading them into the trucks, the damage will be done and no one will be the wiser."

"We've never moved this many at once," the second man protested.

"We've never been looking at this much blow and arms before," Brad answered. "It's a payout I'm not willing to pass up, eyeballs or not. If you want out, Carter, well, you can take your chances. I've got people lined up for your spot."

The silence was ominous following the threat, and Sheryl began to sweat as she tried to figure out how she could duck out of the break room without being seen. Her fingers closed around an extra pair of headphones in her bag. She had shoved them in there the other day when Leanne couldn't find hers. Thinking quickly, she shoved them in her ears and tucked the other end of the wire into her jeans pocket.

The door to the office opened with a bang, and Sheryl began to sing randomly to herself as she pretended to wipe down a table; hand shaking so badly she could barely hold the cloth. She saw the large ranch hand stalk down the hallway towards the main doors from the corner of her eye. She rubbed the table harder. Just a few minutes more and Brad would either leave or go back in his office. She was making up words to a silent song now.

"Sheryl," Brad called, having stepped into the doorway from his office.

Sheryl pretended not to hear him and bounced to the imaginary beat.

"Sheryl!" Brad raised his voice and she turned a hopefully inquisitive face towards him.

"Hey, Brad." Her voice sounded shaky to her. She hoped it was only in her imagination. "Sorry, I didn't hear you. Did you just get here?"

Brad stared at her warily; took in the backpack and vacuum near the bucket of cleaning supplies. "No. I've been in my office. Did you just see someone leave?" he asked.

Sheryl shrugged, pulse pounding. "Nope."

He leaned against the doorjamb and pasted a falsely friendly smile on his face. "Hey, I wanted to talk to you about our conversation a few weeks ago. You got a minute?"

Palms sweating, Sheryl turned back to her task, "I'm running a little behind right now. Can we talk about it tomorrow after lunch?"

"Sheryl," Brad warned.

Swallowing hard, she forced herself to turn and meet his gaze. Tried to appear calm. "Listen, Brad," she cleared her throat. "You made it pretty clear that I need to keep my mouth shut. I don't have anywhere to go, and I don't have anyone to go to. I'd be an idiot to ruin what I have here."

Brad shoved his hands in his pockets as he considered her. He was a tall man, and Sheryl knew his leanness hid a surprising strength. "I like that word: 'ruin.' There's a lot to ruin, Sheryl; your job, your life, your children's lives. I'd hate to see any…pain…come to my niece and nephew." His smile didn't reach his eyes.

She dropped her eyes to the carpet and blinked back the tears. She only had to do this for another week. Only until Sunday. She had a day now. She thought of Leanne and Tyler at home in their beds. Thought of Maggie wondering if she'd ever see her granddaughter again. Sheryl raised her head and looked Brad in the eye.

"I owe you a lot, Brad," she said with surprising firmness. "I'm not an ungrateful person. I won't let you down."

It was the easiest lie she had ever told.

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Marshall sat on the chair next to the small desk in the motel room, the laptop he'd wired for Skype within reach, and angled the screen so all the occupants in the room could be seen by persons on the remote end. Stan's face currently filled the screen while he perused the Tucumcari audience and gauged the mood of his inspectors. Marshall nodded in greeting, then turned to take his own measurement of the other members of his team. His gaze settled on Mary, strangely silent as she straddled a chair about four feet from him. Her chin rested on the chair back as her hands gripped the sides like a steering wheel. Tense. Her brow was furrowed while she stared a hole in the carpet. Agent Taliswell was pacing leisurely while chattering on his cell phone, but Mary showed no signs of hearing the conversation.

Marshall thought back to his interaction with his partner before the agent had arrived. He no longer felt the strange chemistry that had briefly filled the air during their conversation, but he wondered if Mary had sensed it also. If she, now, was brooding about that odd shift in relationship paradigm that had had them both momentarily teetering. Like the crackle of ozone after a storm, the slight electrical charge had danced along the hair on his arms, jumped from her jaw to his finger…her eyes to his, carrying a faint hint of arousal that wafted into his brain. Desire. Now he wondered if it was just residual scents from too many cleaning products and an earlier notice of dents in the wall behind the headboard. Maybe the heat, too many electromagnetic fields, greasy chalupas playing tricks with his mind…

Her mood had definitely soured since Taliswell's arrival, and it wasn't due to the phone call from the ranch confirming her shuttle pick-up tomorrow morning. She was contemplating something more complex than wake-up calls and choosing the right jeans to wear. Marshall had seen this aura overtake her more frequently the last six months. Observed this thoughtful Mary that somehow set his nerves on edge, yet offered a primitive flutter of hope he couldn't quite define. She was thinking.

"God, I love it when a plan comes together," crowed Taliswell as he snapped his cell phone shut and plopped down on the edge of the bed. "Our source called early this morning." He cocked a brow at the marshals in anticipation.

Mary finally gave in with an exaggerated eye roll. "Are you gonna tell us, Hannibal ? Or do I have to sic Murdock over there on you with a paper clip and some duct tape?"

"That's MacGuyver," Marshall corrected her.

"Says the king of geeks," Mary snapped.

"MacGuyver was total babe magnet," Taliswell jumped into the debate, unaware of the peril. "I mean, what woman could resist a guy who knew how to use a switchblade, rubber bands and a diaper to foil a plot to blow up Denver?"

Marshall held up a finger with a frown, "No…no. The Denver gang was brought down by his homemade tear gas canisters. Remember? He used the empty soup cans from the school cafeteria."

"I thought that was when he rescued that chick in Phoenix. Didn't he use the heat from the pavement at midday …"

"Jesusgod, please shut up," Mary moaned, cradling her head in her hands. "Stan!" she implored.

"Personally," came Stan's tinny voice, "I think Baracas could've beaten the crap out of MacGuyver with one finger."

Mary rose halfway from the chair, intent upon the laptop, and Marshall held her at bay with one hand. "No. It's expensive."

He met her furious glare with a raised eyebrow, more than willing to do battle, and she slowly sank back into the seat with a blasphemous mumble. Stan intervened.

"All right, let's get this done." He looked down, presumably reviewing information in front of him. "Taliswell, tell us what your source said."

Agent Greg Taliswell, twelve year veteran of DHS with five years working Immigration and Customs Enforcement, was the lead interagency liaison with the Homeland Security Investigations directorate. Over the last year, his team had been slowly gathering information to establish a solid intelligence profile on this current project; a large, human smuggling operation that had recently merged with a smaller arms and narcotics cartel. It was only in the last four weeks that ICE had finally landed the elusive prize: a reliable inside source. Based on the information they had received, and the vulnerability of the source, an emergent plan was devised that included the USMS, DEA and ATF at varying levels.

To Stan, Marshall and Taliswell, it was a Rube Goldberg construction of glorious proportions. To Mary, it was a clusterfuck waiting to happen.

Taliswell pulled out a picture that Mary and Marshall recognized. "Sheryl Christianson, nee Sheryl Perez. I assume you're quite familiar with her background - your intelligence will be better than ours in that realm – so I'll skip to the juicy bits."

Mary shifted in her chair and rested her head on her hands while Marshall fiddled with the pen on the desk, legs sprawled out in front of him. He was hoping the agent wasn't going belabor the point.

"Sheryl called the FBI office in Las Cruces four weeks ago claiming to have information on a human smuggling operation running out of the ranch she worked at. Her brother-in-law, Brad Christianson, is apparently the leader of this particular crew. He and - " Mary cut him off.

"We've read the file, Tally…Taliswell." She rolled her head to the other cheek and pinned him with a baleful look. "I even took a note or two. Skip the remedial shit."

"What my less than polite inspector is trying to say," Stan quickly interjected, "is that she and Marshall have received all the essential facts surrounding the circumstances of their witness. They will be prepared to provide her the utmost protection, but we do need the most recent information to do that."

"She's not your witness yet," Taliswell cautioned. "We need to see some verification of what she's telling us before we cut her loose to the DOJ."

"She's agreed to testify against her brother-in-law in exchange for entry into WITSEC." Marshall rolled his head gently on his neck, knowing they were venturing into a topic where splitting hairs was trickier than splitting the atom. "Typically, at that point, she qualifies for the program and falls under our protection. Chief," he turned to look at Stan, "have we heard anything back on our inquiries regarding early extraction?"

"Nothing but the sounds of cockfighting in the afternoon," Stan replied, obviously irritated. "I'm hoping the DOJ and DHS can play nice with this one so we don't have to decide who's going to be King Solomon later on."

Marshall knew Stan had been on the phones for days trying to establish a hierarchy. Too many predators wanted to climb the food chain, and no one wanted to give up their precarious perch. Personally, he had trouble seeing past the safety of the witness…source…but there were others with eyes on a drastically different goal.

The agent shifted his weight and sighed, tapping the file folder in his hands against the wildly paisley hotel comforter. Shades of impatience colored his complexion. "There won't be anything to testify against if her information isn't any good and these jackasses slip through our fingers yet again. We thought we had them two months ago. We didn't. Now they're twitchy and we've backed way off. Sheryl's closer than any agent has gotten, as she's family, but her presence, and her knowledge, is noted. Any abnormal behavior is going to spook them."

"We're not disputing the fact that she won't qualify for the program if there isn't a trial, or that we would have to re-evaluate her criteria," Stan clarified the marshals' position, "but if it's determined her presence on the ranch has put her in danger, then it would be prudent to extract her to a safe location at that time. If we do it correctly, there's a good possibility her absence won't raise any alarms and her information can still be verified when the operation goes down."

Marshall shrugged in agreement. "A win-win, really. We both get our man, so to speak."

Mary tossed her head off her hands while blowing a stray bang off her forehead. "Look, if she doesn't think we'll be there to rescue her if things go in the crapper, then what makes you think she won't just decide to clam up to save her own ass? We promised her protection… _you_  promised her protection. You can't hang her out to dry at this point."

Taliswell pursed his lips with a long sigh. "My ass, as fine as it is, does not sit in the decision making seat. But I understand your logic…I do. I'll press the director for some answers sooner rather than later."

"'Sooner' was before Marshall and I roasted our livers in the desert," Mary drawled, clearly irritated.

Stan cleared his throat. "This situation has three ending scenarios. Without my marshals able to extract Mrs. Christianson at their discretion, you boys lose two out of three. Give us enough rein to do what we do, and you flip those odds."

Nodding in reluctant agreement, Taliswell jotted a few notes before looking back up at the silent crowd across the room. "So, do you still want to know what Sheryl had to say? Or do we need to negotiate that also?" Three stony stares replied. He grinned. "She overheard Brad planning the pickup and transfer. The party is Sunday night."

"I think we'll leave before you fellas spike the punch," Marshall said. "And we'll take the guest of honor with us."

**\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

***** Some definitions**

**DHS: Department of Homeland Security, ICE: Immigration and Customs Enforcement, DOJ: Department of Justice (branch the USMS fall under), USMS: US Marshals Service, DEA: Drug Enforcement Agency, ATF: Alcohol Tobacco and Firearms**


	3. Bat Masterson

_**"Seems like whenever I get to liking someone, they ain't around for long."** _

_**"I notice when you get to disliking someone, they ain't around for long neither."** _

_\- The Outlaw Josey Wales_

**_-o-o-_ **

_**"Well, if there isn't going to be any shooting, I've got to get my rest."** _

_\- For a Few Dollars More_

* * *

Taliswell left a few hours later, singing promises of unending cooperation and speedy decisions regarding witness jurisdiction. Mary asked if he would throw in a million dollars and world peace while he was at it. He responded with a salute true to her heart and an offer that elicited an amused snort from Marshall.

The partners were left to their final preparations before Mary's departure the next morning, Marshall attaching and calibrating any electronics she would have in her possession or attached to her person, and Mary quietly paging through the pictures of ranch personnel. They would have little chance to formally communicate once they adopted their roles, a nightly call on drop phones or a covertly palmed note the only safe methods of passing information. Tomorrow they would be on the clock; aware of each other's presence but unable to intervene if trouble raised its ugly head. The witness was sacrosanct; the object of protective idolatry in which the worshipers could only weep if those around them fell. A five pointed star the badge of Confirmation, and martyrdom ever too close for comfort.

"How's it going over there, Betsy Ross?" Mary asked, hearing Marshall curse under his breath as he sewed the button cam into her jean jacket.

Marshall ignored her as she snickered, then held up the completed project with a grin. "I would self-accolade, but that would only give you opportunity to crudely mock yet another skill I possess which you would deem…'girly.'"

"If the shoe fits…" Mary trailed off, attention focused more on the pictures in her lap than her partner's attempt to provoke her. "So what prompted Sheryl Christianson to rat out her brother-in-law? A hardworking, capable ranch manager who, by most of our accounting intel, holds mutual access to all the ranch's assets and stock options. No record, not even juvie, and has worked the ranch just about his whole life. Looking at this guy from the outside, there's just nothing that announces 'I'm a drug smuggling nonce with an itchy trigger finger.'"

Laying her jacket over a chair, Marshall grabbed two beers from the cooler and twisted off the tops. Something refreshing. He was still too warm. No matter how low he notched the air, the desert heat seemed to seep in through the cracks. The hot, dry invasion making him long for the cold, clear nights on the high plains. The heat was supposed to break in a few days, and he was looking forward to cool mornings in the saddle; his breath hanging in the air while the damp chill reddened his cheeks and made him think of warm biscuits. Breakfasts hunched around the fire as the endless sky slowly came to life.

Smiling slightly with the memory, he rested a hip against the dresser after handing a bottle to Mary. "The DHS is being tight lipped about the details she's offered, but I gathered there was an incident involving someone close to Mrs. Christianson which spurred her to action. I think she knew about the activity peripherally prior to that, but as to what specifically spooked her…" Marshall shrugged. "We'll get the whole story as soon as she's in our custody. It wasn't in the 'need to know' folder."

Mary snorted and shook her head. "Now I know how Dershowitz used to feel when we'd show up at his door. What the hell is Stan doing to get us more clearance? We're usually a bit more thoroughly briefed than this."

She flipped over another picture, the question apparently rhetorical. "Carter DuBois," she stated, staring at the photo. "Christianson's first lieutenant and probably the weak link that ICE has targeted. Senior ranch hand and scout, he's earned his bones at the Circle R for ten years. Some distant relation to Marcus Whitehorse. 'Ole Carter's going to be your new best friend." Mary looked up at Marshall with a grin. "Follow him around like a puppy."

Marshall tilted his beer at her in a facetious toast. "Hey, can I help it if I suffer a mild case of hero worship? Enthusiastic in my pursuit of wrangler greatness?"

Mary chuckled. "You always were a teacher's pet. Just keep it out of the back of my car this time, Romeo."

Marshall blushed slightly as he sucked air through his teeth and looked elsewhere, and Mary was momentarily enchanted. The mere mention of an interrupted tryst and he was toeing the carpet like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Yet put him in the field with a rifle, and he'd drop a man at three hundred yards without a blink then turn to you and ask what's for dinner. A soldier who retained the soul of a scholar…or a poet with the heart of a warrior…

 _I really need to stop looking at the damn man's bookshelves_ , Mary thought as she shook herself out of the daydream. Marshall began to muse out loud, saving her from revisiting an earlier emotional tangle.

"Marcus Whitehorse," he began. "New Mexico businessman who bought the Circle R ranch about fifteen years ago. It was a failing cattle ranch and he turned it into a thriving working guest ranch in two years. It's now a sought after destination for budding wranglers of all backgrounds, and one of the few working ranches in the States open year round. Whether you want to spend days rounding up cattle or use your time branding calves and docking lambs, the Circle R offers something for everyone."

"Read the brochure, did you, Cowboy?" Mary drawled. "And what's 'docking lambs' anyway?

"It's the process of cropping their tails about a week or so after they're born," he replied, watching Mary's puzzled look linger. "You cut their tails off. Leave about an inch or so."

Mary suddenly felt ill and paled slightly. "Are you kidding me? While they're awake? Why would you do that? I'm not doing that!"

"Relax…relax." Marshall gestured soothingly, slightly surprised by her vehement reaction. "Even if they're doing that this week, it's not mandatory. I'm sure there's plenty of guests who choose not to participate. Maybe you should pass on the branding too." She looked genuinely distressed.

Mary shuddered. "Yeah, I think I'll call in sick that day. Frying ants with a magnifying glass is as close to animal mutilation as I'd like to get, thanks much." She continued to mutter under her breath as she tossed the photos on the bed and picked up Sheryl's file. Changed the subject.

"Sheryl knows we're coming, but she's not being told who we are. I'm still not entirely comfortable with that." Mary looked to him for confirmation.

"Taliswell's team is just too afraid she'll give herself, or us, away if she knows our identities. They promised her two marshals, told her  _when_  we'd be there, but the  _who_  was left out of the equation." Marshall levered off the dresser and joined Mary on the bed, picking up the pictures she had discarded. "I hope she doesn't give herself away trying to figure out who we are."

"Exactly," Mary agreed. "Either that or she finds herself in trouble and doesn't know who to go to." She was looking at a small picture of Sheryl and her two kids standing next to a young looking horse. "I really think she needs to know who we are, Marshall."

"Mare," he said warningly, "we can't play by our rules here. You know that. You won't do anyone any favors…including Sheryl. If she twitches and this doesn't go down, she's not going to have anyone to save her." Marshall saw the photo she was staring at. "Or her kids."

He watched her roll her lips between her teeth, caught up in a mental struggle wrapped in an ethical dilemma. Reaching out, he brushed a few strands of hair off her shoulder, hoping the gesture conveyed understanding and support.

"How long has her husband been missing?" Mary asked.

Marshall frowned, not sure what she was thinking. "Two years. Why?"

Mary was suddenly all motion, shoving the papers and pictures into the folder and pushing off the bed. She grabbed her jacket and gazed about the room, eyes dark. Poised for flight. Marshall now felt anxious for no apparent reason, and found himself leaning towards her. Mary had her hand on the door knob, noted his shift in position and looked over for a moment before refocusing on the floor in front of him.

"Two years," she murmured. "That's when it gets hard…when it all starts to go bad. That's when you stop hoping."

She was out the door and gone before he could stand up, leaving behind ambient eddies carrying her scent and a sour hint of fear. Marshall walked over to stand with his hand on the door as if to will her back. A daughter with a missing father. A woman making her own way while obstacles were heaped in front of her. Mary had begun to identify with Sheryl and her family at a level he wouldn't fully understand.

His partner's past rarely revealed itself with any detail, only occasional remembrances of events retold with an undercurrent of warning: stay away. He had never probed too deeply, and he wouldn't start now, but their witness' plight may bring some things to light, it seemed. Marshall took a deep breath and turned back to the room in order to prepare for bed. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know what demons lurked in those shadows.

/\/\/\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\/\/\/\

The sun cleared the horizon while Marshall made a coffee and biscuit run to the local McDonalds. Darkened streets were now cast in a rosy glow, and Mount Tucumcari appeared in degrees as a monolithic marker on the horizon. Its slopes stubbled with desert scrub and pine, the landmark was more mesa than mountain, but the rolling, monotonous plains surrounding it enhanced its status. He stood for a moment beside the car, watching the liquid light pour down the shadowed sides of the mountain, appreciating the starkness of the wilderness so close to the small town.

Once an anticipated stop on the old Route 66, Tucumcari was now another struggling, rural town digging in its heels while being dragged towards obscurity. It was saved by geography, the bowl of the desert plain an unfriendly environment for survival, and the highway celebrated in many a song was still the only road leading into Texas in this part of the state. A trucker's paradise after miles of monotony, Tucumcari offered at least the minimal comforts of civilization, and the travelers were generously thankful for the rest.

Donning his sunglasses as the sun's rays finally pierced the gloom of dawn, Marshall ducked into the car with his morning offerings for his partner. She was sure to be surly this morning, given the hour, and he wasn't sure if her mood would be further dampened by the events of the prior evening. He hoped she had slept.

-0-0-

Mary groaned as she lobbed her go bag onto the bed, eyes scratchy with lack of sleep and a general inclination towards unpleasantness beginning to take a firm hold. She had been kept awake by the dreams. New faces blended with old, and the shadows that haunted her for years beyond count had emerged to wreak their torture, awakening her drenched in sweat and whispering screams. With no relief apparent by the pre-dawn hours, Mary had dragged herself out of bed for a shower and took the extra time to re-read the files and become familiar with the layout of the ranch. She needed to focus on the job, not the assumed emotional state of the witness or her children. It wasn't the time.

The knock on the door was welcome; a harbinger of caffeine and sustenance. Mary opened the door to her smiling partner and grunted a greeting as she snatched the coffee cup he proffered.

"Umm…you look…" he hedged.

"If you say anything other than 'glorious', you'll be heaving your breakfast over the balcony," Mary snapped.

She felt him watching her as she shoved the remaining items into her bag and sat on the edge of the bed to pull on her boots. Mary had no desire to discuss her inner turmoil with Marshall at this point…or ever, but his steady gaze and quiet presence often worked better than injected truth serum.

"I didn't sleep well. Kept thinking about the witness," Mary said, feigning interest in her boots.

Marshall didn't immediately respond, the crinkle of the bags as he set them on the small table the only indication he had moved from his spot near the doorway. Mary knew he was thinking. Assessing.

"We can renegotiate the terms of contact if things seem to be getting dangerous," Marshall finally offered, voice soft and patient, "but right now there's no indication her well being, or her kids' well being, is threatened. And if she feels like that changes, I'm sure she's got an emergency contact number for Taliswell."

She slowly tugged the hems of her jeans down around the boots, stalling for time and digesting his words. "What if he can't get to her in time…if  _we_  can't get to her in time? You  _know_  how fast things can go sideways in cases like this."

Marshall narrowed his eyes as he watched her on the end of the bed. She was fidgeting with her pants; small, purposeless adjustments that belied the calm in her voice. Her head was bowed and her hair obscured her face. Hiding.

"This isn't just about timing," he stated.

Mary sighed then tossed her hair back as she stood and stomped into her cowboy boots while she headed back into the bathroom. "You know what?" Her voice echoed off the tiles with an irritated lilt as she gathered her things. Emerging, she continued, "You're right. It's not just about timing. It's about finally getting up the nerve…the courage…to do something right and having it thrown in your fucking face." The last word was punctuated by the rattle of the hair dryer as it was rudely shoved into the bag.

Marshall's eyebrows climbed skyward, but he remained silent. "How many times do we see it, Marshall?" Mary was staring at him expectantly now. "How many times do we see some poor schmuck sacrifice themselves, their family, to do the right thing, and then the imbeciles so far removed from the situation they might as well be on another fucking planet decide to pull the plug?"

"No one's pulling the plug, Mare."

She tongued the inside of her cheek at his remark, then set her jaw. "Does she know? Does she know that if the DHS doesn't get this bust she'll be thrown to the wolves? Did anyone tell her that? Or did they let her think she would finally be safe. That she would finally be able to get out and have a safe place to live…raise her kids?" She was on a roll now, and that meant she was pacing. Mary brushed by Marshall on her way to the closet and he stepped back a few feet to give her space.

"What do they think is going to happen to her if we don't get her out of there now? That her life will just go back to normal? That no one suspects anything? It'll all be hunky fuckin' dory and she'll live happily ever after?" Mary spotted her alarm clock and grabbed it, yanking the cord from the socket as she answered her own questions. "No. It won't. Let me tell you what will happen. She'll live in fear. She'll go to bed scared…she'll wake up scared. She'll jump at shadows and turn on all the lights. And then…she'll come home one day to find someone waiting for her…" Her voice cracked ever so slightly as she abruptly cut herself off.

He heard the catch. Watched her set her hands on her hips and breathe in deeply as she gazed at the ceiling, her back to him. Her tension and anger had crawled across the carpet to creep up his own legs and settle in his gut. Marshall swallowed with indecision. He knew his partner's story had become less the witness' and more her own by the end. Nighttime haunts that had now been voiced. He needed to offer comfort, but this was Mary, and he chose his words carefully.

"There aren't going to be any wolves," he began, his words measured. "She'll have you. She'll have us, and Stan will find a way to get her out, bust or not. The threat is too high and DHS doesn't really know how we work…what we can do."

His words reached into her anger and fear and tamped them down. Dispelled the unwanted and unprecedented rising panic as she had begun to slip into the past. Mary closed her eyes and stretched her shoulders as she took a few deep breaths.

"Fine," she said finally, twisting her head to look at him over her shoulder, "but just so you know, I'm going to be calling this one on my gut." She silently challenged him to argue with her.

Her partner met her stare, blue eyes clear with understanding, then nodded once in agreement and solidarity.

She gave him a quick, rueful grin, then turned her attention back to packing.

Marshall noticed her adjust one ankle in her boot as she again traversed the room, his attention now turning towards her departure as the crisis seemed to have temporarily passed. "Are you sure those boots fit? I wanted to go with you when you got them sized."

"They fit fine, Marshall," she sighed. "My sock is just scrunched up." She just wanted to go now.

"Did you wear them around for a few days first? Otherwise you're going to get blisters." He continued to watch her as he moved over to look into her bag. Mary hurried over to pull it out of his reach and onto the other side of the bed.

"The boots are fine, nitwit. And keep your hands out of my stuff. I'm pretty sure I'm capable of packing by myself."

Marshall, denied his inspection, looked around the room to see if she had forgotten anything. "Where's your hat? There's no way you're going to ride out in the sun all day without a hat. Not with your coloring."

She cocked her head and stared at him. Undecided whether to be amused or irritated by his mother hen routine. "It's in the closet." A small, unbelieving chuckle escaped her as he pulled the hat from the shelf and turned it over in his hands with a critical eye.

"Give it," she snapped, grabbing it out of his hands to toss it on the bed. Mary now stood in front of her partner and placed her hands on her hips with a crooked grin, feeling strangely saucy. "And I have clean underwear on too. Do you need to check that?"

Marshall would never quite know what compelled him to lose his mind at that moment. He would chalk it up to prolonged hyperthermia and the scent of citrus shampoo.

He surprised her as he stepped forward to nearly close the distance between them. "Interesting offer. What if I take you up on it?" His lips curled into their own small smile as he watched her grin tremble and fade.

 _Now? He calls me on my BS now?_  Mary thought frantically, mental gears grinding. Her breathing quickened with unexpected anticipation, and she felt a heaviness in her belly. She swallowed as she tried to quell the nervousness feeding on the lingering anxiety from earlier.

"I'd probably break your leg and put you down like a lame ass," she retorted, hoping it had some snap to it.

He stepped closer and raked her body with his eyes. "Now you've got me thinking about asses again," his voice had dropped at least an octave. Mary opened her mouth, but the desire in that one long look rendered her momentarily speechless.

Marshall had expected another smart ass comeback…possibly a physical rejection, but, instead, he was riveted by the transformation on his partner's face. Her lips parted slightly, her cheeks flushed, and as her eyes darkened to mossy brown he leaned in, drawn to the biological signals of arousal.

He lightly stroked her cheek and jaw with the back of his knuckles. "And hot pants…" he murmured, slowly drawing the fingers down to her chin and dragging his thumb across her lower lip. Mary caught her breath, the contact rooting her to the spot and dragging her gaze to his face as he lowered it to hers. "…and halter tops," he whispered.

Mary sighed a quiet 'oh,' eyelids fluttering shut as Marshall gently brushed his lips across hers, and she reached out instinctively to rest her fingers on his chest. She should push him away. Should protest this blatant invasion of her space, her mouth. But the feather light contact of his lips and the heat she felt under her fingertips worked some desert magic and she found herself lifting her face to offer him more.

The loud knock at the door had both their eyes flying open in surprise. Mary hadn't realized Marshall had a hold of her arm until the grip prevented her from drawing back.

"That will be Taliswell…again," he whispered against her mouth, a chuckle in his voice. His breath smelled of toothpaste and coffee.

Mary grinned and ran her fingertips down to his stomach before gently pushing him back. "Seemingly, right on time." He was looking at her with a twinkle in his eye that had her holding back the giggles of a schoolgirl.

Another, more demanding knock had Marshall rolling his eyes and turning to the door with a muttered curse and a slight blush, grimacing slightly as he tugged on his jeans.

/\/\/\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\/\/\/\

Sheryl stood by the great room's large picture window in the main lodge and gazed out upon the expanse of gravel parking lot before her. She had finished the morning preparations for the new set of arriving guests, paying a little extra attention to detail and cleanliness as all fifteen of the prospective wranglers were women. She felt like a schoolgirl waiting for her first date to show up at the door; nerves on edge, palms slightly sweaty, and an anticipation-dread that made her regret the egg sandwich she had had for breakfast.

More likely than not, there was a marshal on the shuttle scheduled to arrive any minute. Maybe two. They promised her two. There wouldn't need to be more. Sheryl had researched the witness protection program and Marshals Service on the internet; googled everything she could find and then erased the search history. She was leaving nothing to chance now, no clues for anyone to discover that would hint at her plan of action. Her perceived betrayal. The marshals would keep her safe…and get her out. There was no other option in her mind than leaving the ranch with her kids and the clothes on their backs by Monday.

Rubbing the thin, cotton material of the drapes between her fingers, Sheryl recalled the book she was currently reading with Tyler. She felt like that castaway. A Robinson Crusoe who finally attracted the rescue boats with a distress fire. Tired and worn down with eyes glued to the sea, still able to stand tall in rally as hope appears as a speck on the horizon. The burnt orange shuttle bus with mustangs on the sides lumbered into the parking lot with a throaty rumble and a cloud of dust. Sheryl couldn't help but smile in small victory.

She finally pushed away from the window and grabbed her bucket of supplies, confident she'd make it through another day; not knowing a pair of eyes watched her from the loft balcony as she exited.


	4. Bill Tilghman

_**"Don't say it's a fine morning, or I'll shoot you."** _

_**-** McClintock_

**-o-o-**

_**"Lord...whatever I've done to piss you off...if you could just get me out of this and somehow let me know what it was I promise to rectify the situation."** _

_**-** Maverick_

* * *

Marshall fiddled with the small digital recorder he held in his hands, long fingers manipulating the various small buttons and switches as his mind busied itself separate of its corporeal host. He slouched in the too small reading chair near the desk in his motel room as he passed the time waiting for Mary to arrive at the ranch and find a moment to check in.

Why he thought he could be any more prepared for this operation than he was, he didn't know. He had been over the equipment time and time again, memorized the files, traced the maps…even drawn detailed plans of the ranch layout which prompted Mary to ask him if he needed a new box of crayons. The preparations had been completed and checked, repeatedly, but still Marshall worried. Worried about the unknown repercussions of governmental red tape…blue tape…green tape, that could possibly bind them and endanger the witness. Endanger them. Worried that this wasn't their forte, this subterfuge, and that stumbles normally covered with competence and grace would be noticed this time. Worried the back-up plan was tenuous at best, and relying on others through blind faith was better left to priests and trapeze artists.

The air conditioner rattled to life, jerking Marshall out of his reverie, and he blew out a long breath as he tossed the recorder onto the bed with a grimace of disgust. He was going to make himself crazy, grinding the mental 'what if' gears, and he reached over to grab the novel he had packed for the too quiet times. He flipped through the pages, but his eyes refused to focus on the words, instead sliding over to stare sightlessly at the floor as his mind shoved the morning's events determinedly to the forefront.

He could still see her standing there, posture and expression daring him to respond to her taunt in any way other than docilely. The spark in her eyes, the long fingers resting on the curve of a hip he had looked at too long, a piece of blonde hair curled tantalizingly over her collarbone. The poster girl for bad decisions. She didn't know; didn't realize she was testing a resolve teetering on the libidinous edge...

Marshall released a groaned sigh and shook his head ruefully.  _Mary_. The woman he'd spent more time with than the sum of all his romantic relationships laid end to end. The woman he knew more about than any other friend he'd ever had. The woman who stood beside him, challenged him, humored him, angered him, protected him…cared for him. Played roles beyond roles in their partnership, some he couldn't even define, but that missing role was the one that had kept him awake during the wee hours; tossing and turning with want and self-recrimination as he wallowed in the second level of Hell.

"'Pale were the lips I kiss'd, and fair the form I floated with, about that melancholy storm,'" he quoted softly. He sat, stilled in memory as the words whispered through the room.

He could still taste her; a lingering hint of sweetness he was sure was only imagined, but heady nonetheless. There had only been a brief moment of contact, but even that promise of pleasure had rocked him down to his toes. He knew he hadn't imagined the way she had shifted slightly closer as his lips brushed hers; the way her fingertips slowly traced his contours through his shirt. She had not been unaffected. That, beyond everything else which imprinted those mere moments indelibly onto his brain, was what drove him to distraction these hours later. Wondering what she had been thinking. Wondering what she had felt. Wondering what this was going to do their relationship.

"And it's all my mother's fault," Marshall grumbled, imagining his father expressing a similar sentiment, the males of the family subject to the wants, whims and warpaths of the solitary female Mann. Rising from the chair to re-pack his bag, Marshall remembered the fateful conversation from a few months ago.

_He stood staring out the window over the kitchen sink, fascinated by the large flakes of snow reblanketing the rolling hills behind the house. The dog played a game of wintry tag with the weather; pouncing on the targets nature threw at her, only to come up empty handed with a muzzle full of snow. Undeterred, she darted towards the next unsuspecting flakes. Marshall smiled through a mouthful of cereal as he watched her, reverting to old habits of eating over the sink while everyone else was still asleep._

" _Aren't you a little too old for Lucky Charms?" she teased, slippered feet shuffling onto the tiled floor._

_Marshall barely avoided fumbling the bowl into the sink and licked the spilled droplets of milk off his thumb as he turned towards her. "Never," he mumbled around a rainbow of flavor. Swallowed. "And if you thought we were too old, you wouldn't buy them for us when we came home."_

" _That's just to keep you from eating all the eggs before I get a chance to make 'second breakfast' after everyone's up." His mom helped herself to a cup of coffee and glided over to perch on one of the counter stools._

_Marshall joined her, aware of her assessing stare. "What?" he asked warily, not sure he was up for a post-dawn reckoning._

_She held the steaming cup of coffee with both hands and stared past him as she sipped. "I was going to make a quilt for Chris when he left for college," she stated, referring to his oldest brother._

_He frowned as he tried to wrap his mind around the significance of the twenty-odd year old memory. Before he could question her, she continued._

" _I gathered materials and supplies, even cut up some of his old clothes and a piece of his receiving blanket to add to the mix. Read up on quilt making and tried a few sample squares. I wanted it to be just right. Perfect, you know?" She cocked an eyebrow at him with a brief glance._

_Marshall felt a response was required. "How'd it turn out?"_

_His mom smiled that smile he had learned to pay attention to. "That's the thing, Marshall. I spent so much time preparing and studying and planning in order to make it just right that the moment passed, the kid went off to school…then graduate school, and then he had a wife. And_ she _used the materials to make them a quilt. I missed my chance to offer him something that, though it probably wasn't going to be perfect, would've been something he always remembered. Maybe even treasured." She shrugged a shoulder and took a long drink of her coffee._

" _You could still make a quilt," Marshall suggested weakly._

" _No, the moment passed," she replied with a rueful tone. After a minute or two of silence, she got up to refill her cup. Marshall watched her._

" _So," he began, "I'm thinking that wasn't just a random story, Mom. Do I get the interpretation now, or do I have to decipher it myself?"_

_She tightened the tie on her robe as she smiled at him. "Marshall, you're my romantic. To you, life is a quilt. But don't spend too much time trying to figure out how to get that perfect piece in there. Maybe it's supposed to be sideways, or sewn in with clashing threads, but if you wait too long…well…someone else is going to snatch it up and use it for their own."_

_Marshall opened his mouth to reply but she cut him off. "Do something about that woman before you've strangled yourself with your own jeans."_

_He just stared at her, speechless, as she disappeared down the hall._

Refolding another pair of jeans, Marshall stuffed them back into the bag more vigorously than he needed to. His mom's words and retreating chuckle had been bouncing around in his brain for months now. _Do something…do something…_

"Sure, Mom," Marshall offered to the empty motel room, abusing another piece of clothing as he wondered if his mother had ever read Dante. "'Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.'"

/\/\/\/\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\/\/\

The shuttle bus smelled like every other shuttle: the slightly unpleasant mix of upholstery cleaner, wet rubber, diesel fuel and a hint of cigarette smoke. This ride, due to its destination, also treated the passenger to a barely detectable whiff of substances that should have stayed in the pasture. Wrinkling her nose as she chose a Holstein patterned seat close to the front, Mary waited for the driver to finish stowing her luggage as she studied the van's interior. It was themed…even down to the music. She hated country music.

The first one on the shuttle by design, Mary would be able to assess each passenger as they boarded and get a feel for her fellow inmates as they lumbered slowly out to the Ranch. Despite Marshall's checklist, her own notes and the reassurance of Taliswell, she felt her stomach tightening into a knot with thoughts of the upcoming week. It was one thing to assume a façade for an hour to two…or even a day, but to maintain a cover that invited no investigation or curiosity for a week? And in that time establish some contact with a witness who wasn't supposed to know who you were in order to protect them from people who didn't know you were there…?

"And to top it off, I'm supposed to ride a fucking horse," she groused, letting her head fall back to rest on the seat.

Her grumbling was interrupted by the driver's greeting as he took his spot, and Mary forced herself to pay attention to the conversation and subsequent question and answer session that was supposed to put her at ease and bolster excitement. It wasn't soon enough that they pulled into the next shuttle stop, and Mary gazed out the window at two other women readying for the ride.  _Fifteen women_ , she thought with another jolt of panic. It was too much estrogen for her taste. The thought of soon to ensue gossip, giggling and other distinctly feminine activities set her teeth on edge. She carried a badge and a gun for a reason; the same reason that got her physically ejected from Mrs. Godfrey's home ec class sophomore year.  _Samantha Wood probably shouldn't have blocked my punch with her face_ , Mary thought humorously.

The women introduced themselves with bright smiles, and Mary responded with a friendly grin and firm handshake. Both were from Fort Collins, cousins who had saved up for this trip, and seemed happy to chatter between themselves after the expected courtesies to Mary. Relieved to have leapt the first of many hurdles, Mary settled back into her seat and thought that Marshall would've been proud of her. Grinned as she could imagine him tipping an imaginary hat with tilt of an eyebrow. Her grin slowly faded, however, as her mind backpedaled to that stunned moment in the motel room.

 _Marshall_. The one man in her life she actually gave a damn about. The only relationship she held dear and would fight for, and it seemed as though lately he was determined to try to fuck it up. Scratching her head and watching out the window as a gaudy tourist shop receded from view, she wondered for the umpteenth time what the hell had happened that morning. At what point did the usual parry, thrust, riposte lurch into a tangled mess of footwork that had left them both unsure and confused? At least  _she_  was unsure and confused.

Mary had mentally reviewed her actions and reactions from beginning to end of their time together in her room. Was it her concern for Sheryl and the withering dregs of the nightmares that had thrown off her judgment and timing during their verbal sparring? Had she somehow missed some unspoken cue that had encouraged him? Or had he just lost his mind and stepped beyond the boundaries of partner and friend without thought to the consequences?

 _No_ , she shook her head slightly in disbelief.  _Marshall would never just…_  The thought trailed off as Mary remembered the earnest look on her partner's face all those months ago in the office.

Chewing nervously on a fingernail as she nodded greetings to yet more new arrivals, Mary furrowed her brow as the brief conversation ran through her mind. She hadn't wanted to think about it then. Didn't want to think about it for the many weeks following as she lay awake late into the night staring at the ceiling in her bedroom. Tried to avoid thinking about in the morning…at lunch…while cruising the friendly skies at 30,000 feet as Marshall softly snored with his head resting on her shoulder. She didn't need messy. What she needed was her partner and friend to stop putting ideas in her head that kept her awake well into the night counting the rotations of the ceiling fan. Ideas that had her considering alternate motivations for an early morning event that was likely a simple misunderstanding.

 _There must've just been some mixed signals this morning, that's all_ , she concluded with a soft grunt. They were both on edge, Marshall's brain likely as fried as her own with urgency and anxiousness, and the lack of attention to the situation had allowed it to become…odd. Mary couldn't really think of another word to describe it. It was like standing on the railroad tracks and suddenly hearing the whistle while the light shone in your eyes. A moment long enough to be aware of your fate, but not long enough to change it.

Fate, as though aware of its mention, massaged images into her brain. Mary remembered the feel of his slightly calloused fingers on her cheek, seeing his eyes darken to indigo just as the scent of his aftershave filled her nose and all chance of protest was lost. And then his lips on hers…

The shuttle lurched wildly as the driver turned into the ranch parking lot. Mary was jostled rudely from her musings and grabbed for the edge of the seat to steady herself; cheeks hot with surprise and a lingering arousal she'd just as soon forget. Grumbling in disgust, both at the driver's lack of skill and her unexpected trip down libido lane, she realized it was time to scrape her scrambled brains off the floor and perform the job she had been put here to do.

The women chattered and jostled each other slightly as they piled off the shuttle to gather near the back while their luggage was unloaded. As always, a small number made immediate friends; laughing and joking as though they had known each other for years. Others, like Mary, stood quietly and took in the chaos around them with a calm eye. Waiting for a conversation to be started for them, or just waiting for the opportunity to escape. Mary was torn. She'd prefer to just head to her room and settle in without having to interact beyond a cordial greeting, but she also needed to blend in slightly, and that meant making at least an effort at small talk.

Taking a deep breath, Mary assumed a pleasant expression and turned to the woman standing nearest to her to make the necessary first introduction.

"Mary Shepard?" the woman echoed, smiling widely. "That's great! I'm Diane Goldblum."

Mary had a moment of panic. Had she been made already? Was this some witness from their distant past that she hadn't remembered? How was she going to get rid of Diane without compromising her cover? Her uncertainty must've been plainly written on her face because Diane chuckled as she explained.

"It's okay. I didn't realize our roommate's name was on the shuttle confirmation either. I mean, who puts it there? But, no matter, I'm so glad to meet you!" Diane leaned over to nudge Mary's shoulder with her own as she lowered her voice. "Now…what do you say we get unpacked and head on over to the barn to meet us some  _real_ cowboys?"

"I, um," Mary stuttered, brain stumbling over words like 'roommate' and 'cowboys' and advice to 'be nice' before rebooting. "Yeah, sure," she reluctantly agreed with a shrug, reaching up to pull her hair into a ponytail before grabbing her bag and turning towards Diane with a sigh.

"Why not? For these prices, there  _better_  be something worth riding in that barn." Mary threw a glare at said building behind her sunglasses as they began to walk towards their quarters. "And I don't like horses."

 


	5. John W Marshall

_**"Marshal... watch out for him, he's plum loco."** _

_**-** Hang 'Em High_

_**-o-o-** _

_**"Not a hard man to track. Leaves dead men where ever he goes."** _

_\- The Outlaw Josey Wales_

* * *

"I think we have a problem." Carter's statement preceded him as he pushed into Brad's office, not bothering to knock. The large man hovered near the door, wiping sweat off his brow with a forearm as he pulled off his hat.

Brad didn't look up, continuing to squint at the screen on his laptop. Finally tapping a few keys, he rumbled a reply, "The last thing I want to hear from you right now is 'we have a problem.'" He quirked an eyebrow at Carter with an annoyed glance. "I'm assuming that since I can smell you, you aren't capable of handling it on your own?"

Carter flared his nostrils in anger at the dig. "There's nothing to handle…yet. And if  _you_  had your goddamn head in the game you might have heard about it sooner than I did."

The hum of the air conditioner barely concealed the sound of Brad sucking his teeth in annoyance as he slowly steepled his fingers over chest. He tapped his index fingers against pursed lips, seemingly considering Carter's criticism. Carter shifted his weight nervously as Brad's silence continued, feeling compelled to amend his statement.

"Christ, Brad," he began with a sigh, "you still haven't been out to the tunnel to finalize Sunday's drop, we've got fifteen new guests and I'm still short my summer staff, and I've been holding Garcia's boys at arm's length for as long as I can. They want to see you…yesterday. I told you expanding was a shitty idea. We need you out  _there_ , not in here checking your fucking stock options." He had begun to slowly pace in front of Brad's desk. The taller man stood and Carter halted; senses perked as if prey.

"Listen, DuBois." Brad leaned forward to rest his knuckles on the desk between them. "I pay you for a great number of things. Hell, I even pay you  _well_  for a few things. But I certainly don't pay you to come into my office stinking like a sow in heat and dare to tell me my fucking business!" His reddened face and aggressive feint towards the other man punctuated his words.

Carter took a step back and held his hands up in surrender. He could still feel the ache in his shoulder from the last time he incurred the taller man's anger. There would be time for them to have it out, man to man, but now…"Easy. It's stressful for everyone right now. The heat doesn't help. Just…I got it." He waited for Brad's face to fade to a shade less flammable before attempting to circle back to his original intent for this visit.

"Parker called today. He suspects the feds are back in town." Carter slowly slid his hands into his pockets and watched Brad's reaction.

Brad snorted as he opened a drawer to pull out a pack of cigarettes. "Parker's a fuck up. When he's not drunk he's stupid." He cracked the window before lighting up, resting a hip on the windowsill so the smoke was drawn out. "The only reason the Sheriff allows him to wear the badge is so Parker's sister will keep putting out."

Carter huffed a short chuckle in agreement, but shook his head anyway. "I don't know. Parker's been boffing that sweet young thing at the Circle K on 66 and 1st, and she told him a fella's been in a couple times this last week. She spotted a badge and a piece and doesn't recognize him. Tall guy with a hat and sunglasses." He shrugged and waited.

Brad stared out the window at the main barn as he took a long drag on his cigarette. "Fuck", he grumbled, lost in thought. He watched the heat waves ripple across the riding corral, turning the dusty ring into a virtual brown pond with docks of jumps and bales of straw. July heat in early May, and Brad wondered if the Indians would say it portended feast or famine; life or death…or an excuse to open the casino a few hours earlier. He sighed in irritation and mashed the now smoked butt into the window sill before flicking it out the window.

"Look," he said, stretching as he stood. "The feds don't have shit. They didn't have shit months ago, and they don't have shit now. We're not the only game this side of the Rio Grande, Garcia's crew is tighter than a trussed up virgin, and nothing's changed in our operation to…" he trailed off as his eyes shifted to focus on the wall behind Carter.

Carter narrowed his eyes as Brad stilled. "What?"

Shaking himself out of his brief reverie, Brad frowned and pointed a finger at Carter. "Tell Parker to run a check on everyone we've hired in the last thirty days. Plus any guests…including the current ones. And see if he can get some surveillance videos from that Circle K."

Grabbing his hat and settling it on his head, Carter pushed questions aside until he watched Brad step over to dig through one of the desk drawers for a ring of keys. "What are you doing?"

"I suddenly feel like I need some quality family time," Brad growled, an unfriendly smile sliding onto his face.

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Mary blew yet another damp piece of hair off her forehead as the group of wanna-be cowgirls ambled into the stables; a gingham clad flock enthusiastically following their slightly bowlegged leader with murmurs of appreciation and shared leers. Not that Mary was studying the physique of the wrangler assigned to the task of corralling the women into the main barn. The very broadly built wrangler with forearms seemingly sculpted in steel and a rough southern drawl that made her salivate. He moved in a way she recognized, but couldn't quite put her finger on; effortless, but hinting at strength and speed which could be called on at moment's notice. Contained. Potentially lethal. The way a man moved when he knew what he was capable of; what he could do with his body…his hands…As he stopped and turned in a doorway, resting on elbow on a low wall, her mind handed her the similarity with a wink and a nod: Marshall.

"I am  _not_  drooling over my partner," she reprimanded herself with a disgusted snort, followed by a cough as the group stopped, their collective dust cloud catching up with them.

"I hope I brought enough clothes," Diane said irritably next to her. "It's mid morning and I already need a shower. Jesus…" She elbowed Mary in the ribs as their guide jumped up onto a small crate to see them all. "Although, the view is worth every grimy minute."

Mary sidestepped with the contact, shooting a glare in Diane's direction. "Picked your Marlboro Man to mount, then?"

Diane looked over with a crooked grin and challenge. "Maybe. Why? You want a shot at him?"

Mary studied the woman next to her for moment. Almost as tall as herself, Diane sported a head of wild, spiky red hair and a face full of freckles. Full bodied, but toned, the other woman reminded Mary of pictures of farm families and milk maids. "I haven't seen him ride yet," she said, cocking an eyebrow in return volley.

Their fledgling duel was interrupted by the disputed man as he cleared his throat and raised his hand for their attention.

"I'd say, 'howdy,' but I tend to follow that with a 'y'all' and that just sounds stupid, so I'll stick with 'hi.'" He paused to allow the women the expected chuckle, confident in his spiel. "My name is Eliot, and I'm one of the senior ranch hands here at the Circle R." Eliot continued to introduce his role, the expectations of his position and what he was going to do for the women during the rest of the morning. Mary kept ears tuned to the information, but her eyes darted around the interior of the large barn in order to assess and catalogue entrances, exits and positions of vulnerability.

One of three stables on ranch property, this was by far the largest, being the main facility for housing horses and all the myriad of equipment that accompanied them. She tried to mentally review the names and purposes of the variety of acoutrements she would use to decorate her beast, Marshall having attempted to educate her on the topic, but Eliot's husky voice and the attention of a barn cat scattered academic thoughts.

Mary squatted down to pet the demanding calico and studied the barn from its point of view. The high windows allowed the sun to stream into the building, producing a glittering layer of dust motes near the floor and giving one of the long, empty corridors a nearly ethereal look; its stalls possibly holding mythical creatures rather than the mundane brown horses you'd expect. The nickers and whinnies from the occupied stalls were punctuated by the echo of hooves on packed dirt, and Mary inhaled slowly to identify familiar scents; fresh hay, musk and manure. For a moment, she could understand the desire to immerse oneself this nearly timeless world. It seemed simpler, unhurried.

Her musings were cut short as the group began to shift and murmur, and Mary stood while shooing the cat away, refocusing on the here and now. Eliot was taking them to the main tack room and Mary smiled. It was time to find out if her cavalier partner really knew what he proclaimed to; 'an accomplished horseman when I was younger' indeed.

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Brad let himself into Sheryl's apartment, sure there was no one home. The kids were in school and his sister-in-law had another hour on her morning shift before she'd return to eat and sleep. Perfect. As appointed landlord to the on-site staff's duplex apartments, Brad knew his presence amongst the cluster of old soapstone buildings would barely register if a resident were to notice him. The hum of a dozen swamp coolers masked any noise he would make, and it would be presumed he was there to repair yet another leaky faucet or jammed garbage disposal.

A dark, cool interior greeting him as he slipped into the family room, and Brad squinted to adjust his eyes and formulate a plan of attack. He had been in the house often enough, birthdays and holidays demanding his presence at lackluster celebrations, but he had seldom paid enough attention to the personal lives of his brother's family to know if anything he saw now was out of the ordinary.

Plucking a framed picture off the entryway table, he studied the photo of the happy family with a frown. "Gary, you fool. Just had to go fuck things up, didn't you?" Brad muttered into the gloom, remembering his brother's misguided actions. A clock chimed the hour, startling him, and he returned the picture to get down to business.

Starting in the kitchen, he began to rummage through the pile of paid bills and magazines that Sheryl kept in trays next to the computer wedged into a small alcove between the pantry and the refrigerator. There were hints of an organized system, but Brad quickly grew frustrated with the random pieces of junk mail and community college brochures stuffed into the mix.  _Stupid bitch thinks she's going to get educated?_  Mesalands was on the far side of town and Sheryl didn't have a car. He be damned if she thought he'd let her rearrange her schedule for classes and travel.

He had never liked Sheryl Perez. Not only for the fact that her family was too few generations off the rez, but her presence had upset a burgeoning business plan which could've turned him into a millionaire. He and Gary would've owned this dump by now; be raising Arabians and Derby winners rather than trail horses and dried up cattle. There wouldn't have been any  _guests_. No puling, needy city dwellers that didn't know the ass end of a horse when it shit on them. No. There would've been  _investors_. Clients with deep pockets and thick wallets. He would've been respected…kowtowed to. A king of his own domain. Instead, he was a jester. Playing cowboy and butler to Whitehorse's idea of a dream. All because Gary didn't want to sully his wife and children with "risky" business deals. Had laid loyalty to blood aside for a piece of ass and a squalling kid.

Brad cursed under his breath as he stuffed the papers back into the bins, anger fueling anxiety and making him sloppy. Pawing at the computer, he turned it on and waited impatiently for it to boot up as he gazed around the small kitchen. Crayoned pictures stuck to the fridge, boxes of cereal lined up neatly on the counter, a little row of hand towels tucked into the handle of the oven. The domesticity of the scene turned his stomach as it only reminded him of his brother's stupidity…of his own downfall.

"God damned leeches," he hissed. The only reason they were still around was for appearances. Gary's vanishing act wasn't far enough into the past for community sympathy to have died down, and Brad certainly didn't need any curious eyes pointed his direction were more of his family to mysteriously disappear. But the time of grace was coming to an end, and his tightly clenched fist of hospitality would soon be withdrawn.

The computer sang a welcome and he pulled a chair over to begin his search. His gut had been in a quasi-knot since the day Sheryl had asked him about the girls she saw in the river by the cattle crossing two months ago. He was sure his explanations and threats had quelled any desire she might have to investigate further…or tell anyone, but she had been acting oddly the past few weeks. Distracted and unnervingly confident. Not the usual abasing behavior he was used to and it had been unsettling. He had ignored it for too long, it seemed, and now he was sickeningly certain there was a connection between Sheryl and the mystery man in town. He just needed to find it. Needed an excuse to rid himself of the parasites.

Twenty minutes later he was swearing at the screen as he threw the mouse down. Nothing. Benign emails and Word documents regarding school fund raisers and a few ridiculously worded short stories. All her favorited internet sites either expounded on the next great recipe or were gossipy journals where she would coo over celebrities, and she had erased all her search history. He hadn't expected that. Another tendril of unease meandered into his consciousness as he reached for the power button; she could be smart enough to cover her tracks.  _Shit._

Brad stood quickly, realizing he needed to do more than just poke into a few drawers and skulk about computer files. He needed a little help and knew just the man for the job. The chair legs had barely ceased to scrape against the floor when a small sound froze him in his tracks: keys in a lock.

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"All the horses are well acquainted with riders of all shapes and sizes…and temperament." Eliot's drawl kept the women's attention as he led them down the main corridor of the barn, strolling backwards to keep them all in view. He watched their reactions as the horses stuck their heads out of their stalls to investigate the interlopers; looked for nervous behaviors that would require extra TLC. "They're working horses and they truly enjoy their jobs, but they expect you to take the reins. Don't expect to sit in the saddle and just enjoy the scenery, ladies. You and your horse are going to have to work together, so you'll have to get to know each other. Communicate."

His gaze lingered on a tall blonde who eyed a nickering mare with a hint of fear. Made a mental note to spend a little one-on-one time with the lovely lady and her mount, and smiled at the prospect of potential overtime. By now, individuals in the group had noticed name tags on the stalls, and soon all the women were actively hunting for their new equine partners. Eliot turned his attention to wandering amidst the chattering guests, answering questions and offering advice as how to best meet and greet. The horses were excited; old hats at the game and curious.

Mary slowly approached the stall designated with her name. A dark gray head appeared over the door, and as she closed the distance between them the horse tossed its head with a snort and a stomp. Mary stopped and stared, chewing on her bottom lip and crossing her arms over her chest. It was a beautiful horse; dark charcoal gray with a generous dusting of white splotches on its chest and shoulders. Big. And it stared back at her with a glint of mischief in its eye, she was sure.

"You know I already have a partner who makes me crazy, right?" she asked the nodding animal. "I don't need any more shit. The back-up piece is loaded…just remember that."

"He won't bite." Eliot's voice startled her, and Mary worried for a moment he may have overheard.

"The hell he won't," she replied.

"Okay. He won't bite if you don't give him reason to," Eliot acquiesced. "But he's waiting for you to come over so he can smell you. Meet you. If you're afraid of him he'll be able to tell and it's going to make your week fairly miserable. So pretend you're not." He smiled at her and Mary glared.

"Something that large shouldn't be that skittish," she said on a sigh, "and every horse I've ever met has had the manners of a toddler."

Eliot narrowed his eyes with a grin. "And you came to a dude ranch because…"

Mary jutted her chin forward. "My therapist  _recommended_  it…and my boss oh so cheerfully agreed."

"Ah," he replied with a grimace. "Well, let's just make the best of it. You'll like Marshal. He's got some spirit, but he knows how to sit back and let someone else take charge."

Mary's stomach flipped slightly as she caught Eliot's words, slightly distracted by the horse's actions.  _Did he know?_

"What did you say about marshals?" She squinted at him, on alert.

Eliot chuckled and gestured at the gray. "The horse…your horse. His name is Marshal."

Mary just stared at him for a minute in stunned silence before barking a laugh. "Of course it is."


	6. Doc Holliday

_**"You are one... superior... son of a bitch!"** _

_\- Breakheart Pass_

_**-o-o-** _

_**"You may not know this but... there's things that gnaw at a man worse than dyin."** _

_– Open Range_

* * *

Sheryl was tired. The kind of tired that made you wonder if you'd actually be able to take one more step…climb out of bed one more time. Bone weary and soul sucked. The sun beat down on her head as she trudged towards home, black hair absorbing every ray, and Sheryl muttered unpleasant curses to the Beloved Twain for the early summer heat. The air seemed thick with anticipation, and the pale glassy blue of the sky foretold of a change in weather; wispy mare's tails blending into a translucent veil on the horizon and the fitful southeast breeze whispering promises of a front. Hopefully it would turn cooler…even more hopefully it would rain. She blinked as a trickle of sweat burned the corner of her eye, ducking her head to use her shoulder to wipe away the errant perspiration. The tiny damp spot left behind was dwarfed by the larger damp expanses dotting her t-shirt. Even her shorts felt wet.

The body was somehow not ready to tolerate the high temperatures before the calendar could acknowledge the season, and the heat had messed with everyone's minds - igniting tempers and melting away common sense. The last thing she needed was for Brad and his men to be any more anxious than they usually were at the beginning of the summer…any more watchful. She truly felt as though a break in the weather would provide more than just physical relief; it would release her from an ever tightening noose of her own making. A faint cry drew her eye to a wake of buzzards in the distance, their lazy death spiral a fitting picture of her current mood…a slow descent of doom.

The last few months had tried her in ways she had never imagined, and she woke up each morning with a prayer to St. Jude to make it through the day. She doubted anyone else would take her case. Hell, even Jude was probably tying on his racing shoes as it came down to the wire. Ready to clear out before all hell broke loose. Sheryl grunted a chuckle with the thought as she turned down the gravel drive leading to the cluster of living quarters. Jude was a chicken shit.

Her bucket of cleaning supplies bounced against her knee as she increased her pace towards her apartment, the weight counterbalanced by the small basket of clean clothes tucked under the arm on her opposite side. She had become a master of efficiency: washing her own family's laundry with the guest linens while completing the rest of the morning chores with rote finesse. Wasted motion equaled wasted time, and she had too often suffered the consequences of deviating from the housekeeping schedule set by Brad. He offered her no quarter despite her familial status, and, in fact, seemed to delight in singling her out for transgressions added in fine print that very day.

Sighing in delight as she reached the shade of the carport, Sheryl set the bucket of cleaning supplies on top of the cracked plastic table decorated with scribbles of permanent marker. She smiled as she slung the backpack off her shoulder and dug for the keys. The kids had rescued the sad piece of furniture from a fateful trip to the dump a few days prior. They had wanted to decorate it, and she saw no reason to quell their artistic streak. It was really the first thing they had been excited about for a while as school had become a chore, they weren't allowed to roam freely about the ranch and Brad had now banned them from the game room in the main lodge. "What a jerk," she mumbled as she turned the doorknob. Soon, they'd have new frontiers to explore…and maybe the smiles would come back. Grabbing the bucket as the door swung open, Sheryl pushed into the welcome coolness of her family room.

"You know what the Indians used to do to squaws that betrayed the tribe?"

Brad's low growl came out of the darkness and Sheryl's heart slammed against her chest. The laundry and cleaning supplies spilled onto the carpet as she startled and tripped over the low magazine rack near the door, throwing her arms out to catch herself against the back of the couch. Her eyes quickly adjusted to the gloom with adrenaline, and she felt her cheeks flare with heat while fear and anger turned into nausea.

" _Brad!_ " she gasped, panting now as her brain tried to decide between fight or flight. Kicking a magazine out of the way, Sheryl side stepped along the back of the couch as she watched her brother-in-law's shadow shift in the chair by the kitchen. The sweat that now trickled down between her shoulder blades was made of ice. "What the hell are you doing here?" A shout in her head, the words emerged as a strangled squeak and she hated the audible tell of weakness.

Brad watched the woman slide along the couch like a spider watches a fly. Waiting. Enjoying the struggle and sounds of helplessness as they were trapped without escape. He had her at a complete disadvantage, and a smile of victory tugged at his lips with her tremulous inquiry. A fly might tell him just about anything to be freed of the web.

"Did you think I wouldn't find out?" He threw out the bait.

Sheryl continued her sideways creep until she reached the far wall and reached out to flip on the light switch. The standing lamp in the corner glowed to life and lifted the gloom from the corners of the rooms…lifted the death grip of fear from her heart. She could see him now and that somehow made it easier to think. He blinked against the illumination, and Sheryl's pulse slowed to a more normal rhythm as the light seemed to level the playing field in her mind.

"Find out about what?" She stalled as she looked around for signs of a disturbance.

Brad watched her eyes dart about furtively and stood. Sheryl's gaze immediately flew back to him. "Don't fuck with me, Sher. You think you can go behind my back and mess with my business? Do you think I'm stupid?" He walked towards her and she scuttled around the end of the couch to press against the wall leading towards the kitchen.

Her thoughts were screaming at a thousand miles and hour. There was no way he knew…no way. She had been so careful. Had never used her own phone to call Taliswell and had only placed calls to the number he gave her from phones in town…or Maggie's phone. Brad never even spoke to Maggie. He drew near, his posture angry and mean, and Sheryl had a sudden thought: he was bluffing. He was trying to get her to admit to something.

"Listen, Brad," she pleaded, trying to think up an excuse as she eyed possible escape routes. The bedrooms were a sure trap, but the kitchen had potential weapons. "I know I've taken a few extra breaks these past few weeks, but the kids had some sort of flu and I must've caught it -"

Her explanation was cut short by a yelp as Brad lunged forward to grab her arm and yank her towards him. "No…no, no…" she chanted as he crowded her against the wall and she ducked her head and pushed against his chest in defense. "I don't know what you want!"

Brad's lip curled up in a satisfied sneer as he squeezed the flesh of her small arms and felt her flinch. He used his height to pull her onto her tiptoes while he leaned in to growl at her. "Don't fucking lie to me." She gasped as he shook her hard and pushed her into the wall. "Don't lie to me…don't fuck with me…and if I find out you've done  _anything,_  I mean even a  _hint_  of anything, to jeopardize this ranch…" he breathed onto her neck as he trailed off and was mildly aroused as she shuddered and whimpered.  _Another time…_

Sheryl squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to hyperventilate. She knew this would end badly…as it always did, but she still had options. She could still walk away instead of crawl away. Keeping her head down and injecting as much sincerity into her voice as she could, Sheryl tried to talk him down as she thought of salvation that resided in a guest cabin.

"I wouldn't do that. I wouldn't. I don't want you to think I would do that, Brad. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry." She apologized out of years of reflex. "I don't want to be any trouble. Gary always told me not to be any trouble…"

He stiffened with the mention of his brother, and the woman's pathetic words suddenly disgusted him. "Shut up," he hissed, releasing her to smack her across the mouth. Sheryl stumbled away from him with one hand on the wall and the other covering her lips. She looked about to cry, and he couldn't stand it anymore. The heat…the stress…the small apartment…he had to get out.

As Brad whirled and stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door shut so hard two pictures fell off the wall, Sheryl leaned against the wall and slowly slid down to sit with her head in her hands. She trembled with adrenaline and shame, the sour taste of bile sticking to the back of her throat as she tried to take deep breaths to bring the world back into focus. He was gone…out the door. And she knew from experience he wouldn't come back.

Her arms ached, her cheek and lip throbbed, and Sheryl wrapped her arms around her quivering legs to rest her head on her knees as the warm sting of tears released her from silence. The sobs were familiar, yet somehow more raw…more intense as the extra layer of fear gripped her. He suspected her, and now he would be watching. A shiver of terror rippled through her and she fumbled in her pocket for her phone. She had to call Taliswell…had to get out.

 _He would be watching_. The thought echoed in her mind as her fingers wrapped around the cell and she froze. Watching. Her…and the kids. Sheryl groaned and rested her head back against the wall with that realization. She couldn't run yet. She couldn't set something into motion that may be noticed and endanger her children. "Jesus," she whispered, half curse, half plea. She had spent most of her life trapped in one situation or another, and it seemed even now, as escape beckoned only a heartbeat away, that she was again tied down.

"Less than a week," she whispered to the ceiling as she gathered her knees to her chest again. She could wait. She could plan. She  _would_  get out.

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Mary groaned in delight as she rounded the side of the equipment shed and the aroma of grilled meat nearly enveloped her. Her empty stomach overrode any complaint from her sore legs, and she picked up her pace as she headed towards the gathering in front of the main lodge. The BBQ was in full swing, and she hoped her somewhat late arrival to the party wouldn't look suspicious in any way, but everyone around the large grill and BBQ pit was engaged in conversation, drinking, or both, and Mary was fairly sure it wasn't even noted when she began to mingle around the edge of the crowd.

She had fought with Marshall for twenty minutes about the camera after Diane had left the room. There was no way in hell she was wearing her jean jacket to dinner, especially a dinner that involved standing around a fire pit in ninety degree heat, and he insisted she take the digital camera in lieu of clandestine opportunity.

" _Right, idiot," she scoffed. "Like no one will notice I'm taking pictures of every blade of grass."_

_She could hear his annoyed look over the phone. "You're a guest on vacation. With a whole bunch of other guests. People take pictures when they're on vacation. God forbid you act normal."_

" _You've got glossies of all the players." Mary was trying to find the small digital camera she hoped she had put in her bag. "And why can't I just use the damn phone?"_

" _We need to see them in situ. Video would be preferred, but enough still shots will still give us a good feel for relationships and behavioral quirks. The phone takes poor quality shots." Marshall was silent a moment as Mary continued to check the pockets of her bag, wondering when they had become a 'we' with ICE._

" _You forgot the camera, didn't you?" His sigh made her bare her teeth at the phone._

" _No, asshole," she growled, then pumped a fist in the air as her fingers found the camera tucked into a corner. "I'm holding it right now."_

" _I don't believe you," he drawled suspiciously. "Take a picture and send it."_

_Mary grinned at his demand. "What's your choice? Tits or crotch?" She was sure she heard him choke on a drink._

" _W-What?"_

" _I don't have time for this bullshit, and if you insist on show and tell…" she let the half threat hang in the air as she tucked the camera into the front pocket of her jeans. Her partner was silent just a moment too long, and Mary narrowed her eyes. "Are you fucking_ thinking _about it?" For some reason, that possibility caused the sore muscles in her thighs to burn just slightly more._

" _Oh my god, pervis" she hissed, not waiting for his answer. "Don't download too much porn while you and Tallywhacker jack off. I gotta go."_

She was still wondering about her reactions at the end of the conversation when Diane sidled up to her with a cold beer.

"Where have you been?" her roommate scolded with a grin as she handed over a beverage. "The shirts are just starting to come off and you're missing the show." Diane gestured towards the BBQ pit.

Eliot and another wrangler were tending to the racks of ribs and other food items arrayed on the large grill and on screens over the fire pit. The men were sweating and laughing, each holding a beer in one hand while they expertly flipped and basted with the other. Mary uttered a quiet 'wooo' at the sight…both men having stripped down to white tank tops to keep cool. Muscles bunched and rippled, and she couldn't help but admire the lean planes of Eliot's back and shoulders as he stretched before taking a long drink of his beer. His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed and Mary's eyebrows journeyed upwards. Diane noticed.

"Oh, no you don't," she teased. "I've got first dibs on that."

Mary couldn't help but chuckle as she watched two other women stroll up to Eliot and ask him to pose with them for a picture. He flexed and grinned, then flipped some ribs into the air to show off. Diane groaned and rolled her eyes.

"Jesus, I love a man who can handle his meat." The redhead winked at a surprised Mary before wading through the crowd towards Eliot.

"Run, Eliot…run," Mary muttered with a crooked grin.

Forty-five minutes later, Mary was contentedly licking sweet, sticky BBQ sauce off her fingers as she sat on a low bench and balanced a paper plate heaped with bones on her knees. It was probably the best bunch of ribs she had ever had, and she needed to tell Marshall to get the recipe, and the cow, before they had to go back to Albuquerque. If the rest of the meals on the ranch were going to be like this, her horse would be complaining about the extra load by the end of the week.

She had met most of the women there for Cowgirl Camp, and she was surprised that, on the whole, they seemed an agreeable bunch. There were one or two she would take great pains to avoid, and one who had brought her teenage daughter who would be better suited to a prison cell, but Mary was fairly certain she wouldn't have to waste a bullet on any of her remaining companions. The wranglers had introduced themselves to everyone, and there were a couple of younger men…boys…spending the summer on some sort of internship, but Mary knew there were more staff to meet and she really needed to spend some time mingling to get more pictures. Stirring up a little cloud of dust as she adjusted her feet to stand, she rubbed her nose with the back of one hand while looking around for a trash can.

"Don't tell me you're allergic to horses, too?" A now familiar drawl came from her left.

"Would it buy me a reprieve from a trail ride if I were?" Mary asked, turning to see Eliot standing with his hand held out. His longish hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail and he had re-donned his shirt, though it remained unbuttoned with the tails fluttering around the waist of his low-slung, worn jeans. He gestured towards her empty plate and she handed it over and followed him as he sauntered towards the trash cans.

"You did fine today. Even looked like you were having a little fun." Eliot winked at her as he dusted off his hands and noted her narrowed eyes. He leaned in slightly and lowered his voice, "Just a teenie tiny bit of fun. Hardly noticeable at all."

Mary couldn't help but grin at his conspiratorial tone and felt somehow flattered by the subtle compliment. "I'll never admit to it," she said, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow.

The wrangler chuckled, a low husky sound she could appreciate, stepped closer and stage whispered, "And I'll never tell. It'll be our little secret."

His teasing, though blatant flirting, was infectious, and Mary found herself a willing participant. "Somehow, I'm sure you have a number of 'little secrets' filed away. One for each day of the week, maybe?"

Shoving his hands into his pockets and rocking back on his heels, Eliot's exaggerated grimace and affected sheepish look had Mary rolling her eyes with her own chuckle. "I just  _bet_  you wrangle more than the horses."

"Oh, no, ma'am," he drawled, now grinning with her. "That would be against the rules."

The simple statement had her mind racing back to a tense moment in a café hundreds of miles away. Another cowboy…another pair of blue eyes. A warbled war cry intruded on her thoughts, and a blur of arms and legs hurled themselves at Eliot as she stepped back slightly.

"I caught you! I caught you and now you have to give me a ride!" The blur resolved into a boy about six years old. Cropped black hair, a face of freckles and a red bandana wrapped loosely about his neck, the child gripped Eliot's shirt and wrapped his boot clad legs around the man's knee. Attached. "Please, Mr. Eliot, please?" Light brown eyes crinkled with the impassioned plea as the boy looked upward. It was Sheryl's son.

Eliot smiled and laughed, seemingly unperturbed by the pint sized leech, and reached down to rub the boy's head. "Good approach, Tyler…I never saw you coming. So, I guess I owe you a ride." As Tyler cheered, Eliot raised his head to scan the crowd with a look Mary recognized too well: threat assessment. Her own senses went on alert, though she had no idea the nature of the danger.

"Where's your uncle?" Eliot asked as he gently disentangled Tyler from his leg.

The boy shrugged. "He left. Told my mom he had to go into town."

"Well, then," the large man grunted, lifting Tyler onto his shoulders as the boy squealed, "let's go for the super duper expert rodeo ride." Tyler wrapped his small hands around the man's forehead. "Say goodbye to the lady," Eliot instructed as he again winked at Mary.

"Bye, ma'am!" The salutation ended in another squeal as Eliot loped away.

 _What is it with men and kids?_  she thought, shaking her head in bemusement.

"I'm really sorry about that," a woman's voice spoke from behind her. "My son's not quite old enough to understand he can't just interrupt adult conversation to get what he wants. I hope you're not angry?"

Mary turned to see a woman in a Circle R polo and tan shorts looking nervous and resigned at the same time. She glanced at Mary, then went back to watching her son bounce away on Eliot's shoulders. Sheryl. Mary took the moment afforded to her to study her witness: Long, glossy black hair with nearly black eyes to match, her skin was already tanned to the color of heavily creamed coffee this early in the season; her native American ancestry obvious. She was only about five inches shorter than Mary, but probably weighed at most 110 pounds soaking wet, with a delicate bone structure that was made even more prominent because of the slightly too large shirt she had on. Sheryl wrung her hands with a furrowed brow as she watched Tyler and Eliot, and Mary wondered if her worry was due to the present activity or more to an overall state of continuing anxiety. She held out her hand in greeting.

"It's not a problem. Kids are kids. I'm Mary." Sheryl eyed her with a small, appreciative smile and finally shook her hand.

"Nice to meet you, Mary," Sheryl replied, obviously studying her in return. "I'm Sheryl Christianson. I'm a housekeeper here…live here, actually." She tilted her head and squinted slightly. "So, what do you do, Mary?"

Mary made sure to remain nonchalant about the abrupt fishing expedition, hoping Sheryl's lack of subtlety didn't extend beyond generic questions. Though direct questioning would only seem socially gauche to most, if the wrong people overheard, suspicions would be heightened. A small gust of wind lifted Sheryl's hair away from her face and Mary's eyes were drawn to a poorly camouflaged bruise on the woman's cheek…and a split lip. Drawing in a long, slow breath, Mary tried not to jump to the conclusion that was clubbing her like a baby seal.

"I'm in law enforcement," Mary answered with a shrug. "Corrections officer. I'm on…vacation of sorts." She saw a glimmer of hope in Sheryl's eyes die with the clarification and wanted to leave parts of Taliswell scattered about the mesa. It was time to change the subject. "So, 'Christianson'. Are you related to Brad Christianson? I saw his name as one of the managers here."

Sheryl's gaze immediately dropped to the ground and she nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before touching her lip for a moment. "He's my brother-in-law." She looked back up to Mary with a set jaw. "We don't really get along."

Mary opened her mouth to reply when young girl pushed by nearby group of people and ducked under Sheryl's arm to lean against the shorter woman. She held her mother's arm around her with both hands gripping her wrist and stared silently at Mary as she rubbed the toe of one shoe in the dirt. There was no smile, no curiosity…just the emotionless stare of one who had learned that the end of one day only meant another one was coming. Mary was trapped in Leanne's gaze for a long moment before dragging her eyes back to Sheryl.

She cleared her throat and smiled tightly. "It was nice to meet you Sheryl. I better go talk to my roommate. She's plotting to take over the bathroom." It was lame, but Mary's mind was already racing past the boundaries of the ranch to a motel room with too many electronics and the one man who would understand the anger beginning to roil within her. Sidestepping the main portion of the guests still milling about the BBQ pit, Mary pulled out her cell to tap out a quick text:

' _Game plan needs to change! Players on the field with unnecessary roughness. Suspect underage participants.'_


	7. Morgan Earp

_**"Hot damn!** **I'm gunna declare a holiday...Hot damn!"** _

_**–** High Plains Drifter_

_**-o-o-** _

_**"** **Bad horse...** _ **_Bad horse..."_ **

**_–_ ** _Dances with Wolves_

* * *

Marshall readjusted his shoulder bag with a shrug as he squinted up at the sky. The sun was about to clear the row of low slung ranch houses across the street from the shuttle stop, and although a high layer of cirrus clouds diffused the light, the refractive properties of those same clouds still drove him to don his sunglasses as the morning progressed. It was already hot. He rolled up the sleeves of the blue plaid, long sleeved shirt to seek relief, and again wondered if Abrams and Bettes were smoking crack when they forecasted thunderstorms for eastern New Mexico. The air seemed too dry to feed any instability approaching from the northwest, and barring the sudden formation of a large inland sea in the region, he estimated the eagerly awaited front would, at most, conjure up a shower or two.  _But then again_ , he thought as he inhaled deeply through his nose,  _there's moisture up there somewhere_. He could smell it – the desert plants their own barometers that released the teasing scents of sage and creosote in anticipation of rain. He gave it twelve hours.

Marshall refocused on street level activity as the groan-wheeze of the shuttle bus' brakes heralded its approach. Pressing his cowboy hat more firmly onto his head, he waited for the glass doors to open so he could toss his bag to the driver and climb aboard. The air conditioner was set to arctic, and he was glad for its heroic efforts. Choosing a seat near the front of the small bus, Marshall perched on the side of the bench and turned to face the two other men silently assessing him.

"Marshall Miller," he introduced himself with a smile and a nod. "How are you gentlemen this morning?"

The simple question prompted both men to introduce themselves in turn, and the conversation progressed from guarded experience checks to a relatively friendly banter before the bus had lumbered to the next stop. Marshall cataloged both Manuel Santiago from El Paso and Timothy 'Tucky' Clem from Amarillo as good 'ole cowboys working the summer ranch circuit to earn enough money for fall and winter rodeo entry fees and stable rentals. They were seasoned ranch hands, and rolled their eyes when Marshall expressed his eagerness to get on with the morning.

"I'll remind you of your enthusiasm later when the first horse pisses on your boot," Tucky drawled with a grin.

"Or when some mariposa gets his loafer caught in the stirrups and demands you buy him a new pair." Manuel snickered as he chewed on a callus.

Marshall shared a knowing chuckle with the men. He had let them know it had been a while since he worked a guest ranch, and had left enough of a gap in years to keep any lack of knowledge believable and acceptable.

"Well," he said, "I think we're in luck. I read it's Cowgirl Camp this week. The only mariposas will be the kind that take flight."

Manuel whistled low and long while Tucky pantomimed a lewd action, and Marshall was reminded of SWAT operations and office parties. Wrangling was a man's world. The hats and boots weren't for show, the long sleeved shirts and jeans hid scars from close calls, and fourteen hour days spent wrestling anything from bulls to hay bales left the men tired, thirsty and eager for female companionship.

He was sure Mary would have some emasculating vitriol to sprinkle onto his thoughts, some crude comparison between man and horse, but Marshall smiled in anticipation of his partner's attacks. He had the advantage this time. The knowledge and skill. She would need him this week…all he had to do was wait. In fact, the first cry for help had come sooner that he had expected, and for reasons he hadn't expected.

After receiving her text the evening before, and getting a few more sketchy details with inquiry, Marshall had immediately called Stan to discuss the now unacceptable situation regarding lack of communication between marshal and witness. Even without details from Mary's end, the men knew Sheryl's position was more potentially volatile than Taliswell's team had realized. Stan took the bull by the horns and sicced various office personnel on key members of the DHS investigation, and within a few hours Marshall had information that would surely inspire Mary to up her monetary offer for his services. He had impatiently waited for her call.

" _Somebody better have some good news, otherwise there'll be more than just four legged geldings on this ranch," Mary barked as she joined the conference call._

" _And here I thought you were opposed to mutilating poor dumb animals," Marshall replied. He could just about hear her pacing on the other end of the phone._

" _I'd start with you," Mary warned, "but I think there might be a reason your mother already wonders why you haven't given her any grandchildren." Marshall glared at the phone._

" _And, I'm on the line…" Stan interrupted any reply Marshall would've given. "Save the domestic disputes for another time, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, we've got things to discuss and Mary can't be away for too long."_

" _Yeah, speaking of domestic disputes," Mary said with a sigh. "Someone's knocking Sheryl around, we can all guess who, and knowing that these things escalate when the abuser is under stress, I think we've got another level of threat to consider here. That, and I'm pretty sure the oldest kid has been involved to some point."_

" _You saw bruises on the kid too?" Stan asked._

_Mary's curt reply followed a long moment of silence. "I don't need to see bruises."_

Because she recognizes herself in the skinny, black haired girl _, Marshall thought. She remembers being too young…too small…to defend herself against the raging, unpredictable adults in her life. No father to protect her, and a mother who was just getting by. In Mary's case, a mother who was likely more a part of the problem than the solution._

 _He pinched the bridge of his nose as he squeezed his eyes shut. This had the potential to get way too personal way too quickly. This wasn't a witness Mary had to deal with after the problem had been removed. Not a case where his partner could rant and rave at words in print that described abuse and helplessness. This was real…happening right in front of her and she was being asked to turn a blind eye and wait. To ignore the surely silent pleas for help when she could swiftly and effectively dispatch the threat if only given the word. By law, she was required to report her suspicions; but because she_ was _the law, she was being asked to remain silent. Mary would twist herself up so badly over this that he would have to spend weeks unraveling her followed by months ironing out the wrinkles._

" _Mare," Marshall said quietly. "Taliswell is going to give Sheryl your temporary cell number. She won't know who you are, but she'll have a number to call knowing you're close by."_

_He heard her sigh in frustration, but she replied calmly. "It's better than nothing, I suppose. Thanks, Stan."_

_Stan acknowledged his part as Marshall teased over him. "What? I get nothing? No thanks? No offers of undying gratitude?"_

_Mary snorted and ignored him to pose a few more questions to Stan, and Marshall smiled quietly. The situation was defused slightly for the time being._

" _So, how's the transition to cowgirl going?" Stan asked._

_Mary groaned. "I have muscles I didn't know I had. Although…" she chuckled quietly and the hair on the back of Marshall's neck stood up. "I have to say I'm pleasantly aching after riding Marshal hard all afternoon, giving him a good rubdown, then standing under a hot shower." She hummed for effect. "He wore me out."_

_There was stunned silence, then both men spoke at once:_

" _I don't think…" Stan stuttered._

" _No…no, you didn't," Marshall scolded, shifting in his chair as his libido was certainly hoping she_ would _._

" _He's so responsive when I squeeze my thighs just so," Mary continued as her voice dropped into that sultry cadence Marshall recognized. "Marshal's the biggest one I've ever ridden…I had no idea what I was missing."_

_Stan made a few helpless noises while Marshall's rational brain stepped forward with a newsflash even though the rest of his body ran up a white flag and lay down to submit to the hormonal rush._

" _Ignore her, Stan," he growled. "Obviously her horse's name is Marshal. She's probably been waiting for this opportunity all day."_

_Mary laughed, the sound just throwing fuel on his fire, and Stan harrumphed a weak rebuke before wishing them both a good night and signing off._

" _You know," Marshall drawled at his still chuckling partner. "You've probably just burned images into his brain that'll keep him awake all night."_

" _And what about you?" Mary teased. Marshall narrowed his eyes as he tried to interpret the question. Without being able to see her, he couldn't take the chance that the bait hid a hook he wouldn't be able to wiggle off of._

" _I stopped trying to pay my nine dollars a minute years ago. You're good…but you're not_ that _good." He heard her affronted snort and grinned as he effectively derailed her. "Now, go get some sleep. Breakfast is at 6:30." Mary grumbled and cursed for a few more minutes before hanging up._

He really tried not to replay her words in his mind for the next hour as he readied for bed. But like any other time he was a witness to impromptu phone sex, Mary's murmurs and moans seemed to coat his senses and slowly melt into every cell of his body; infusing him with a want he could not shake for days.

His dreams kept him restless. Chasing elusive shadows while his partner's voice taunted and teased him. He found her finally, pulled her to him in a tangle of sweaty limbs and musky sweat. Her thighs gripped him as she rode atop him with her breasts swaying tantalizingly just out of reach. She clutched her hair with both hands and arched backwards with rising, beseeching cries as their movements became faster…more frenzied. He tried to reach her, tried to slide his hands over her slick skin…he was so close-

Marshall awoke with a strangled grunt as he jerked beneath the tangled sheets, the pillow sweat-soaked even though the air conditioner rattled at full blast. He lay there panting for a few minutes before throwing the covers back with a croaked curse and staggering towards the bathroom. The damn woman had reduced him to a hormonal mess worthy of a teenage boy; stray thoughts and wayward air currents resulting in a need for housekeeping.

Loud laughter and a particularly jarring lurch of the shuttle dragged Marshall's thoughts back to the present, and he looked out the windows to see they were pulling into the front parking lot of the Circle R. The six men on the shuttle stood to grab their belongings as they all continued to chat, and Marshall made sure to add his voice to the general hubbub. He needed to concentrate on the job at hand, build a level of trust and camaraderie in order to blend in and allay any suspicion, not get lost in thoughts of what could...would…never be.

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Mary again wondered what gods she had angered in order to witness the fourth dawn in a row. She blinked wearily as she gathered a plate and silverware from the end of the buffet line and tried to tie on a civilized attitude at a decidedly uncivilized time of the morning. Already the incessant chatter of the women had her pondering her fork for its effectiveness as a weapon, and she hoped to hell the coffee was as strong as all the stories she had heard. She perked up slightly at the sight of every breakfast food that made her mouth water laid out before her, and soon her plate was heaped with farm fresh goodness while she tried to juggle a coffee cup.

Finally, standing with full plate and mug, Mary looked out over the small dining room and spotted Diane waving her over to an empty spot.

"Hey, Mary," Diane greeted her. "You remember Cat and Gina, right?" The women were the first two on the shuttle the day before, and Mary nodded to them before digging into her breakfast. "They just told me they heard from one of the other girls that the staff said the summer wranglers were arriving today."

"Did they also tell you that Johnny was dating the sister of one of the friends of Susie's cousin?" Mary mumbled snidely around a mouthful of biscuit.

Gina and Diane looked puzzled, but Cat tilted her coffee mug at Mary in a silent 'touche.'

Mary took a long drink of her coffee and tried to muster up a tight smile. "I'm not really a morning person. Try not to hit me with any information that's not essential to life before I've had three cups of coffee." The other women nodded in understanding and resumed a former discussion amongst themselves. Mary gratefully took the time to sort her own thoughts and looked around for any sign of Sheryl, Carter or Brad. No luck.

"Oh, they're here," Gina said as another guest waved her over to one of the windows. She was followed by Cat and Diane, and Mary cast an uninterested glance in their direction while trying to decide whether to eat the French toast or pile of eggs next. She couldn't help but overhear the conversation that ensued.

"How many?" asked Diane.

"Five…no, six," someone replied. "Oh, wow. Look at that one. He's tall."

Mary's sleepy brain nudged her then and she stopped chewing to look at the women huddled around the window. Marshall was getting off that shuttle. Now interested in the conversation, Mary slowly rose to wander over to the small group with a smirk. She couldn't quite see the men around the shuttle.

"Oh, hell," sighed Cat. "The one with the red shirt is built like a truck. Look at those arms!"

"Too short. I like my men with some height," replied Gina. "I'm still picking either the one with the blue boots or the one with the sunglasses. They're both god awful gorgeous."

"I'm happily married…I'm happily married…" chanted one woman as she chuckled and walked away. Another followed and they shared a joke about tall cowboys and long trail rides. Mary stepped into the empty spots to get a better view and pulled up in surprise. There was only one 'tall cowboy' in the bunch.

"You know what, Mary?" Diane asked, intent upon watching the men. "You're welcome to Eliot. As nice of a ride as that would be, I think I've found my Derby winner."

"Let me guess," Mary replied, still mentally chewing on the women's reaction to her partner. "The blonde with the Doc Holliday mustache?"

Diane laughed. "You crazy, girl? I'm talking about that tall, cool drink of water with the long legs and fine ass. The man moves like a dancer. I bet he'd give a girl a nice, smooth ride."

There was still only one man decidedly taller than the rest, and Mary shot Diane more than a few glances as she interpreted her response; most of them appalled. "You mean Mar…Mr. Beanpole?" she stuttered.

"Beanpole?" Diane asked, confused. She squinted at Mary. "That man's all muscle. Look at those forearms…those thighs in those jeans. He's more defined than a geometrical proof." She hummed in pleasure and went back to watching Marshall. "You know what they say about man who's all long like that?"

Mary knew exactly what they said. She also knew from personal experience that Marshall's legs weren't the only long, lean thing about him. He was one of the few people with hands bigger than hers. She closed her eyes briefly as a wispy memory of fingers brushing her neck tickled her mind. Snapping back to reality, Mary tried to ignore the flush in her cheeks.

"He'll probably turn out to be some dorky, trivia spewing geek," Mary teased, somehow wanting to dissuade Diane's interest.

"I don't care if he's a nuclear engineer with a lisp and a pocket protector," Diane replied. "So long as I can get my hands on those thighs…that ass…"

The men turned to walk towards the barn and Mary swallowed. She was sure the last thing she should be doing was ogling her partner's suddenly very interesting ass.


	8. Lawrence Deger

_**"You're a good-looking boy: you've big, broad shoulders. But he's a man. And it takes more than big, broad shoulders to make a man."** _

_**-** High Noon_

_**-o-o-** _

_**"If I can't touch you, I can touch your shirt and dream."** _

_\- Maverick_

* * *

Marshall shifted his hips and quietly clicked his tongue as the horse shifted impatiently, yet precisely backwards in its efforts to clear the corral and head towards the open mesa. The short ride from barn to arena had been long enough for him to settle back into the saddle as if the last ten years had never happened. His boots pressed into the stirrups, heels down and pelvis tucked as he rocked the horse into forward motion, right hand loosely holding the reins while he adjusted his hat and jeans as Socrates cleared the barn doors. The formed, leather saddle creaked under his weight, and Marshall squeezed his thighs against the sides to check for any slippage with the horse's movement and breathing; testing gee and haw non-verbal commands as he tightened and released muscles not used for this purpose in too long. His lower back and quad adductors would burn by morning, reminders that he was sorely out of practice on horseback, and he was sure to have a hitch in his gait. Long legs and torso gave him advantage while riding long hours and rough terrain, but the summers spent at his uncle's ranch in Montana were too far past to do him much good now. Posture and balance were still second nature, but ten years took its toll on any body, and joints and muscles pressed into their fifth decade were going to protest this jaunt down memory lane.

He murmured encouragement and sweet nothings to the large, roan gelding as they lazily wandered around the side of the barn towards the largest arena. He was told that Socrates was a thinker. A horse that wasn't prone to startle or react adversely to just about anything, but occasionally needed some serious prodding to get moving when push came to shove...stubborn. Marshall had to smile at that as visions of a wild, blonde creature intruded on his thoughts.  _Stubborn, I can handle_. The smile had morphed into a chuckle by the time they cleared the early morning shadow of the barn and the full heat of the sun fell onto the back of his neck.

Raising his face to the blue expanse of sky, Marshall let the relatively cool breeze filter up under the brim of his hat as he breathed in the familiar scents of fresh alfalfa, sawdust and lingering traces of burnt wood from the fire pit. Socrates snorted and tested the reins as Marshall let him have a bit more lead, and the tall man couldn't help but recall similar mornings riding out with his cousins for a long day's work. Short, flat-topped mesas morphed into jagged, snow covered peaks in his mind as he imagined the vast, rolling plains of the far north flying beneath the feet of their horses. The boys would let them run if the cattle had been herded ahead of time…chasing each other across never ending fields of tall grasses and flushing out startled families of pheasants they vowed to come back later to hunt. It was breathtaking every time, and Marshall could see why his uncle always said ranching was in the blood…timeless.

He heard his name shouted from behind and twisted in the saddle to see Tucky and Manuel trotting towards him. Reining in Socrates, Marshall let the wilds of Montana retreat back to memory as he was joined by the men. It was time to work.

The summer staffers had had barely enough time to dump their belongings in their small cabin rooms and scarf down hot huevos rancheros in the dining area before they were given a hasty tour of the main barn, tack room and equipment sheds. They picked up their equipment and saddled up in order to tour the rest of the ranch on hoof before the morning was halfway over. But first, the summer staff and permanent wranglers joined the half dozen ranch hands and stable boys in the main corral as they were given a verbal schedule of the days events with a quick rundown of rules, regs and codes of conduct that Marshall figured were likely mostly ignored. Paper work. Every office had it, and every office denizen found the quickest way around it.

He took careful inventory of the man flipping pages of a document while sitting on his own impatient horse. Tall, ruddy and build like a bulldozer, Carter Dubois reminded him more of Tuco than Blondie with his squinted frowns and quick, furtive movements. A man incapable of sitting still, Marshall could see that his horse was antsy because its rider was equally as twitchy. The man was observant, though, careful to make eye contact with each of the other men present, only glancing at the papers to occasionally check his place. He stared at Marshall for a long moment at one point, and the marshal stared back calmly…seemingly bored, then broke eye contact first to lean over and whisper to Tucky.

"A man who likes to hear his own voice." Marshall patted his mount's neck as the horse tossed his head.

Tucky chuckled. "There's always one"

"Dubois knows everything that goes on at this ranch," a new voice drawled from their left. Marshall and Tucky turned to see another of the seasoned wranglers sidle up along side them. The three men looked over to see Carter engaged in instructing the stable boys on their duties. "Making a list…checking it twice," the new guy continued. Smiling, he held out his hand to Marshall. "Eliot Sweeney."

Introductions were made around, and Eliot took the time that Carter was using to organize the younger crowd to update Marshall and Tucky. "It's not normally such a 'hurry up and wait' operation, but with the economy as it is, we're forced to overlap guest stays and new staffers this year. Unfortunately, than means you pretty much get tossed into the deep end if you're halfway competent." He looked the marshal and his companion over carefully. "Please don't tell me I'm going to have to play lifeguard with either of you?"

Marshall grinned widely. "A ranch is a ranch, and a horse is a horse."

"Of course," chimed in Tucky, and the other two men groaned. Eliot made a strange clicking sound and Tucky's horse danced nervously while Socrates' ears flattened back. Tucky swore softly as he calmed the now irritated bay while Eliot and Marshall chuckled.

"I had a very pretty lady tell me just yesterday that an animal that large shouldn't be that skittish," Eliot teased under Tucky's glare. "I guess she was right."

Marshall choked slightly on his own spit as Eliot quoted Mary's usual complaint about horses. So they had met. Studying Eliot out of the corner of his eye, Marshall felt an unwelcome twinge of uneasiness in his gut. The man was similar in build to Raphael, with an aura of physical grace and self assuredness that would only make him further attractive to the female of the species. Add in a slight southern drawl and an easy smile…he was a cowboy ripe for the picking. Maybe Stan should've inserted Mary into the office staff instead. Marshall wasn't sure who he should watch more carefully; Mary or Eliot.

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Mary had a blister. She discovered it last night when getting ready for bed, and the small, reddened wound irked her beyond the physical discomfort. The new boots were just that…new. Untried and stiff from the box the night before she donned them in the hotel room. After eight years of partnership, she should know better than to ignore Marshall's advice in things of practicality…hell, in  _most_  things, but she always thought that one of these days he'd be wrong. That she would be able to release doves, call the media and sing the song of victory in front of God and everyone and he would have to sit there with his mouth shut.

Her sunglasses prevented her fellow riders from witnessing the daggers she glared into her partner's back as the group made steady progress across the plateau after lunch. They all knew it was going to be hot, but she and seven other women decided to join the ranch hands for some cattle herding at one of the far pastures anyway. Mary wanted to see the lay of the land; try to get some idea of what ICE was dealing with when Taliswell grumbled about not being able to pinpoint holding areas and loading points. It was a vast landscape…and unforgiving. The sun beat straight down on their heads, all riders having willingly soaked bandanas in ice water and placed them under their hats before mounting up at the ranch, and Mary could see the rippled mirages hovering over arroyos and small watering holes. Not much wildlife to be seen in the midday heat, the native fauna smarter than the fools on horseback. The heat and the ride were making her feet swell, and her thoughts were again darkened towards her partner.

She alternated between silently cursing Marshall's knowledge of everything, and grumbling choice words about the  _other_  Marshal's propensity for sidestepping every pebble he didn't like in the trail. 'Relaxed in the saddle' was a phrase she was still waiting to become familiar with. She tried not to grab the saddle horn every ten seconds, tried to remember to use her knees to adjust her weight and her heels to encourage the horse, tried to manage the reins in something more gentle than a death grip…tried to calculate the time it would take the vultures to find Stan's body after she staked it out on the desert floor. And all the while she watched her partner sit on his horse as if he were born to it; chatting up the other women as he rode ahead or fell back to keep an eye on everyone without apparent effort. Wheeling, trotting and weaving through the masses with a skill that she could appreciate despite her equine ignorance. He reminded her of those riders in the myriad of epic movies he made her watch…endless scenes of sword fights, swooping dragons and chases on horseback where costumes rippled in flight. Mary wondered how he would look on a horse in a full out run. How his body would ride low and tight, concentration etched onto his face as he flew across the plain…intense.

His laughter broke into her reverie, and she looked over to see that Diane had worked her way beside Marshall to engage him in conversation. Mary gently urged her own horse in the same direction, slightly surprised he obeyed her commands.

"…oh, really? What  _do_  they say about part-time wranglers?" Marshall was asking teasingly.

Diane winked at him. "That they're always looking for a woman to help them earn their spurs."

Mary's eyebrows climbed towards the brim of her hat as Marshall gave Diane a long, slow look with his reply, "And what if I already  _have_  my spurs?"

Diane chuckled, then stretched her shoulders back with a hum. "Well, then, it's a good thing I brought my chaps."

Marshall touched the brim of his hat as he conceded with a broad smile. Mary's snort of disbelief went unheard by Diane as the woman 'hupped' to her horse and rode forward to likely brag of impending conquest to Gina. The sound did not escape her partner, however, and he slowed to wait for her to catch up.

"Why do I have a feeling you actually  _do_  have spurs?" Mary asked quietly, shaking her head in disgust.

Marshall just waggled his eyebrows at her before answering in the same low tone, "Did you see any sign of Sheryl this morning?"

The spacing between horses was generous due to the open area of desert they currently trekked through. Eliot and Manuel rode towards the front, and Mary knew another ranch hand had just recently fallen back to take the rear. Currently, all the other riders talked between themselves.

"I saw her after breakfast in the main lodge. Said 'hello.' Brief conversation and nothing seemed amiss." Mary cleared her throat. "No fresh bruises I could see."

Mary felt Marshall's gaze upon her as they rode in silence for a few minutes. She studied a hawk as it lazily rode the afternoon thermals while hunting for prey. Silent and relentless. It suddenly folded its wings back and dove towards the ground.

"Who beat you?" he asked, and somehow, the question was not completely unexpected.

She stared down at her horse's mane, a haphazard arrangement of hair falling to both sides of his neck. Mary reached forward to flip a few pieces across at random as she considered her answer…or whether to answer at all.

"It's a shorter list of who didn't," she heard herself reply, distanced from the topic and in no mood to elaborate. This heat was driving them all a little mad, it seemed. She listened to the clop of hooves against the packed dirt for a few minutes before chancing a glance in Marshall's direction. He delivered a slow, kind smile before releasing her from the serious topic.

"I  _do_  own spurs…two pair, actually," Marshall drawled in a normal tone, returning his gaze to the group. "They were my grandfather's." His Aviator tinted gaze came to rest upon her again and Mary felt her breath catch for some reason. "I also have chaps." Mary saw herself hesitate in the mirrored lenses, then grabbed the olive branch of normal he offered.

"And I have a Glock strapped to my ankle," she growled, baring her teeth in semblance of a smile.

The damn man winked at her as he leaned over to slap Marshal on the haunches. The horse danced into a brief trot and she turned all her attention to remaining in the saddle, hoping her mount interpreted her long string of curses as praise and encouragement.

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"Home, home on the range…" One of the younger wranglers warbled the now well overused song as he wandered back through the small group of women tending the horses amidst a sparse stand of trees. Mary thought his name was Nate, and she was sure he should be next in line for branding. No one should be that chipper while wading through cow shit in this heat. She wondered if he kept something stronger than water in his canteen…wondered if he'd share.

Nearly two hours of spotting, riding and herding had found them all – bovine, equine and human – finally settling into organized activities at the outlying Two Sisters barn. A well irrigated valley about five miles from the main ranch, the small stands of trees and yucca plants provided much appreciated shade for horses and riders alike. Though a smaller barn, the corral attached was much larger than the one at the main ranch, needed to encompass the head of cattle currently lowing and wandering through the dusty enclosure as they jostled for water and food.

The wranglers had immediately hauled out equipment for the various duties they needed to perform before herding their human charges back to the Circle R within the next few hours. Always work to be done, Mary had decided, relating to the seemingly endless series of tasks. Receive the witness, transport the witness, get them their shots, tuck them into their new surroundings, then let them go only to have to check on them again and again. The only part she and Marshall didn't do was brand them. Maybe they should…reduce recidivism.

Another calf bawled and Mary shuddered as she turned her attention back to Marshal and his compatriots tethered under the trees. The wrangler's horses were taken into the barn, as they had done most of the work, but the women's horses were content to swat at flies and eat the grass proffered by Mother Nature while unsaddled and rubbed down by their less skilled riders. Marshall, Manuel and Eliot quickly determined which of the guests preferred to assist with doctoring and branding cattle while shuttling the others to tending horses and preparing dinner. It was a fairly even split, and now Eliot sauntered over to Mary and Cat, leaving Nate and a few other guests to the cooking.

"That's the happiest I've seen these horses in a while. Maybe I should line the wranglers up for you next?" he asked with a crooked grin.

Cat blushed and mumbled something about happy endings under her breath while Mary rolled her eyes. " _You_  perform without complaint for three hours and I  _might_  consider the same reward." She reached up to adjust the wet bandana around her neck and tighten her ponytail. Even the shaded areas radiated heat.

Eliot chuckled and tipped his canteen towards her before taking a long drink, a few drops of water escaping his mouth to trickle down the sides of his neck. Mary couldn't help but watch their progress. They settled into the notch at the top of his sternum and she had to stop herself from reaching out to wipe them away.  _There is way too much testosterone around here_ , she decided, regretfully pulling her gaze back to his face as he wiped his mouth with his forearm.

"I'm pretty sure any comeback I have to that statement would be taken entirely the way I mean it, and I don't want to burn dinner." He reached over to stroke Marshal's neck as Mary chuckled with the innuendo, then made a gentlemanly offer of his elbow as he inclined his head towards the large circle of rocks around the bbq pit. "We really should go out for something other than bbq sometime."

Mary sighed theatrically as she tucked her arm into his and they picked their way over to the fire. "Well, so long as you're paying…"

=o=o=

Marshall helped release the last calf from the branding chute and stepped back to wipe his hands on his jeans and pull out a handkerchief for his neck and face. The heat was obscene in the corral with the branding oven and two dozen furry bodies. Little to no breeze interrupted the slow roasting process, and his brain was feeling just a bit fuzzy by the time they finished doctoring the last of the cattle. It had been a long time since he wrestled a tonnage of flailing hooves, and he added yet more muscle groups to the list of complainants for the next day.

The chatter amongst the ranch hands was useful, at least. Their rote skill at the tasks that took nearly all his concentration allowed for a lengthy time of conversation where he was content to just listen. Outside of instructing the guests, they had talked of past and present ranch issues, personnel likes and dislikes and, to his surprise, launched into a fairly heated discussion of what they thought was 'going on' with Carter and Brad.

"I'm telling you," a full-time wrangler insisted, "I heard Brad say his ship was coming in soon. He's looking to move on…and I don't think he's taking Dubois with 'em."

"Those two have been on the outs for about four months now," an older ranch hand piped in. "About the same time they've been doing construction out at Redpoint."

Marshall's ears perked up at the mention of the eastern outlying barn and corral. The ICE intel was fairly agreed that Redpoint was the holding location for the women being smuggled into and out of the States, but no surveillance had yet to prove their hypothesis. The terrain was rugged, a series of small canyons and dense brush coverage, and there was too little concrete evidence to garner a search warrant that deep into private property.

The older man rubbed his fingers together meaningfully. "It's all about the dough. Carter's always grousing about Brad's need to invest in everything under the sun, and he thinks the boss is in over his head."

"He told you that?" The disbelieving tone was clear, and the old man glared at the younger.

"Son, despite the glamour," he paused for the chuckles, "ranching is not the goose that lays the golden egg. Either you breed winners or you raise something the whole world wants to eat, but busting your ass showing greenhorns a good time will barely keep a place afloat. The boss is looking for a bigger piece of the pie, and Dubois knows he's not getting a slice."

"What's he investing in?" Marshall tossed the question out there as he concentrated on sorting ear tags. No one seemed to think his question was out of place.

"Don't know. Dubois' tight lipped there. Though given Brad's history, it's likely only partially legit."

"He was talking to some guys in the barn one day," the younger man straightened to wipe sweat off his brow. "Mexican. Didn't look like ranchers…but they sure looked like brothers." The statement was met with low murmurings about similar sightings. Finally, as the last cow was tagged and swatted on her way, the older wrangler sighed and shook his head.

"Somebody ought to tell Carter about Gary."

Marshall watched the guests wander towards the gate and waited until most were out of earshot before asking. "Who's Gary?"

The man stared at him for a moment, then jerked his chin towards the gate as he began to walk. Marshall followed. "Gary was…is…Brad's brother. They had a falling out of near biblical proportions about two years ago. The whole place was in a bit of an uproar until Whitehorse stepped in. About a week later, Gary disappeared. Poof. Gone. Left behind his wife and kids, even."

Marshall hmm-ed in acknowledgement. "You wanted to say, ' _was_  Brad's brother.'"

Stopping at the gate to peer out towards the fire pit, the older man leaned against the fence for a moment before replying. "Gary wasn't the type of man to walk out on his family." A sigh and a shake of his head. "Bad blood breeds bad deeds." He pushed through the gate and Marshall followed slowly after as he considered the man's words. New Mexico was a big state, but somehow he didn't think Gary had gotten very far.

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Mary released a long, slow groan of pleasure-pain as she lowered herself into the bubbling delight of the hot tub, grateful for its warmth. Despite the lingering heat of the day radiating off the small pool deck, once the sun had slid below the horizon a diurnal breeze had coolly caressed the valley and dropped the temperature a good twenty degrees. By the time the women had tucked their horses away for the evening and grabbed a late snack in the dining room, most were chilled as they walked from the main lodge to the clusters of cabins a few hundred yards away. There was nearly a hive mind agreement towards gathering in the large hot tub near the cabins, and Mary was more than happy to join the impromptu party to nurse the various insults to the majority of her muscles.

She was greeted by the six other women already immersed neck deep in the riotous water, and Diane handed her a sweating beer from a near-by microbrewery.  _Finally_ , though Mary,  _an undercover perk_. She could have a drink on duty. Smiling her thanks, Mary tipped the bottle in a toast as she relaxed back into the jets with sigh. Bliss. Large swaths of the night sky were visible through breaks in the pine trees, and Mary concentrated on sighting several constellations and the Milky Way before telling Marshall's voice in her head to 'shut up.' The beer and magic jets were satisfactory. She didn't need the subliminal astronomy lesson to improve upon the evening.

"So, Mary," a tall brunette named Sophie asked, interrupting her thoughts. "If you had to do one of the cowboys, which one would you pick?"

Mary choked slightly on a mouthful of pale ale before narrowing her eyes in Diane's direction. Diane held up a hand in surrender. "Don't look at me…I didn't start this witch hunt. Sophie's recently divorced. Got a little cowboy cock on her mind."

"Not a little one," teased another woman. "A full sized, rodeo worthy one." There was laughter all around and Mary had a sinking feeling the conversation was going anywhere but where she wanted to be.

"Shhh, Lisa, let Mary pick. You already put in your vote," Sophie scolded. All eyes were on her, and Mary raised her eyebrows speculatively.

"Can I pick more than one?" she asked with a grin. "There's still most of a week left."

"Oooo…musical cowboys," purred Diane. "I got in trouble for playing that game when I was sixteen. Tied them all to the chairs."

"Oh, god…that gives new meaning to the phrase 'posting trot,' doesn't it?" laughed Sophie, mimicking the up-and-down motion a rider assumed on a trotting horse. The other women joined in with some whistles and hoots.

The conversation degraded into a discussion of which wrangler boasted the largest post, and Mary began to feel slightly overheated as a certain cowboy was voted most likely to get laid by group consensus.

"C'mon, Mary," Diane wheedled. "You have to admit the man is sporting an impressive package. So much so, even a blind woman could see he dresses to the left."

"Is that what I was seeing?" asked Sophie with false enlightenment. "I just figured he was smuggling a ferret…or two." The group burst into laughter yet again.

Mary squeezed her eyes shut as she tossed back the last of her cold beer. Her brain insisted on running recklessly with the rest of the libidinous crowd, and visions of her partner's long, lean legs and form fitting jeans seared themselves onto her synapses.  _Just pretend they're talking about Eliot_ , she chanted to herself.

"Oh, I noticed," Mary finally replied, winking at Sophie. "First, you'll have to wrestle him away from Diane. She was chatting him up on the trail today." Ball back in another court.

The group teased Diane mercilessly for a few minutes before the redhead again got the upper hand. "Mmmm…what Marshall could do to me," she began with a throaty growl. "I'd let him lay me out under the stars…work some magic with those long, long fingers. God…I bet he could reach places that needed reaching. And then..." she paused to tip her beer at the others, "I'd strip him and lick every inch of lean muscle. Get him good and ready before I'd finally get my hands on that ass. Oh, baby…I'd howl louder than the coyotes with all that wrangler in me."

Mary closed her mouth with a snap as she realized she had been staring. Blood was pooling in areas already too warm, and she really needed to get some air as her hormones were methodically strangling nearly every rational thought she had. Pulse pounding as her mind entertained scenarios involving her partner she had never before imagined, Mary pushed herself out of the tub to sit on the side and grab a towel as the rest of the women continued to encourage Diane. Sophie finally asked her where she was headed when she stood to pull on her cover-up.

"I don't know about the rest of you," Mary said, sliding her feet into flipflops, "but I need more cold drinks. Anyone else?" The others declined, and Mary escaped into the shadows of the pines surrounding the pool on weak knees and decidedly inappropriate thoughts.

=o=o=

The women's merriment carried through the clear desert air, the night breeze directing the sound towards the main barn and the two occupants sweating through the final chores of the evening. Marshall grunted as he tossed the small bale of hay in front of a stall, almost finished setting up the morning buffet for the now sleepy equines nestled in their clean beds. Of course he would draw mucking and prep duty the first night he was there, and he groaned while stretching his back and listening to the distant chatter of the ladies. He almost wondered what they were carrying on about. Almost. Having met the most outspoken members of the guests, and knowing his partner all too well, Marshall had a feeling the discussion provoking such a ribald response would not bode well for any male that got too close. No…his mother hadn't raised any stupid boys.

"Are your ears burning?" he asked Eliot as the other man exited a stall a few doors down and glanced towards the cabins through the dark.

Eliot chuckled. "Well now, I'm pretty sure a whole different set of parts would be on fire if I could hear what those ladies are talking about. They tend to get a bit…cheeky after a hard ride. Start telling stories about cowboys and rodeo rides that'll make Hugh Hefner blush."

Marshall snorted his own amusement, having heard the stories Mary could tell. "Gotta blow of steam as well as the rest of us, I suppose." He grabbed his shirt off the low wall and wiped his face, both he and Eliot having had stripped down to tanks with the exertion. Eliot grabbed a couple of water bottles from the small fridge near the barn doors. Tossed one to Marshall as he drank his own.

"Gives the boys a lot of opportunity for "private lessons" I suppose?" Marshall asked, curious as to the response of the wranglers to the randy women.

Eliot smiled and tsked, "Flirting and fluffing is encouraged, makes the guest feel attended to and relaxed, but anything beyond that is frowned upon. This ain't the Mustang Ranch."

The men shared a laugh, then turned as they heard footsteps enter the barn from the other end of the hallway. "Let fluffing commence," murmured Eliot.

Mary had strode towards the main lodge with intent to visit the vending machines, but the quiet of the night beckoned her onto a more meandering path, and soon she found herself circling around the well lit barn. Surprisingly, there didn't seem to be anyone around, and she decided to investigate the nocturnal habits of the horses. Slightly slobbery four-legged animals were sure to erase any thoughts of the half naked two-legged variety. The thought died a whimpering death as she entered the barn to find the latter species standing before her.  _Tactical error_.

"Evening, darlin'," Eliot greeting her with a crooked grin. "What can we help you with?"

Mary was pretty sure she should blink…at least to keep her eyeballs from falling out of her head while her brain called home to momma that she had just won the cowboy fantasy lottery. Two of them…half-dressed and sweaty…boots on with lopsided smiles. It didn't matter that one of them was a man she had worked beside for the last eight years, alfalfa fumes and mild heat stroke had apparently clogged her senses. They were…gorgeous. And talking to her.  _Jesus, Mary, shake it off!_  She took a deep breath and tuned in.

"Evening, boys. You two draw the short straw on KP duty?" she asked as she walked towards them, noting with some satisfaction that Marshall was staring at her legs.

"Just doing our jobs," answered Eliot. "Aren't you going to be missed at the party?"

Mary shrugged. "Needed some fresh air." Purposefully looked them both up and down. "Got tired of just talking about the scenery."

Marshall nudged Eliot. "Fact finding mission. Make sure those stories are true to life."

"Right," drawled Eliot, catching onto the game and winking at Mary. "Gotta take back a first hand account of real-life cowboy action." He looked back at Marshall. "You know, they like to get into a lot of detail. Rippling muscles…the fit of the jeans…"

Mary crossed her arms over her chest, cocking an eyebrow as two pairs of eyes snapped to her enhanced cleavage. "We're just trying to separate the trail horses from the stallions," she countered.

Eliot chuckled and held his hands about eight inches apart. "Oh, I know how you girls like to measure up the stallions."

Marshall hmm-ed and reached over to move one of Eliot's hands a few inches outward, then smiled at his partner. "Wouldn't want those details to be inaccurate." Mary's gaze dropped to the front of his jeans, then snapped back to his face before she blushed and narrowed her eyes.

"I think I'll just leave you boys to play with each other," she snapped, pivoting to leave the way she had come in a huff.

Marshall and Eliot laughed while they watched her walk away. "I like that one," said Eliot as he grabbed the shovel to start on the next stall. "That's a girl who only walks away to reload. She'll be back."

Eyeing the other man, Marshall hesitated before hoisting the next bale. "You have no idea," he mumbled quietly.

=o=o=

Mary was still grumbling under her breath ten minutes later while visiting the vending machines in hopes of cooling off from the encounter in the barn. She was decidedly off her game if she had allowed two sweaty idiots to rattle her with innuendo and crude gestures. She had actually stared at her partner's crotch. Had actually wondered, for just a moment, if the dimensions hinted at were…

"Jesus Christ and all the saints in a bucket," she hissed as she ran her fingers through her hair. Maybe it was just time to call it a night and get some sleep. Obviously the stress of wearing a different personality all day had damaged her common sense. Mary increased her pace towards the cabins.

Angry, low voices captured her attention as she passed the laundry room, and she slowed to listen. "Carter, please," Sheryl's voice carried the frustration of someone tired of arguing. "I already told Brad I've got nothing to do with it."

Mary eased off the sidewalk and into the dirt before creeping further along the side of the building. She kept one hand low and out in front of her to avoid running into any obstacles, and slowly positioned herself near the edge of the doorway leading to the washers. Carter's voice was difficult to hear, and Mary squinted as she turned all her attention to the room beyond. "…you think I'm…how stupid…" _Dammit._  She leaned a little closer.

A faint rustle behind her was the only warning she got before the hand clamped over her mouth.


	9. Joseph Shelby

_**"Will she make the white words?"** _

_**"She won't try, she is being difficult."** _

_**"Well she's the one who's crying, perhaps the difficulty is yours..."** _

_-Dances with Wolves_

-o-o-

_**"You may not know this but...there's things that gnaw at a man worse than dyin'."** _

_– Open Range_

* * *

_A faint rustle behind her was the only warning she got before the hand clamped over her mouth._

Mary abruptly stiffened, the large hand effectively muffling her startled yelp, and any additional movement was prohibited as another arm snaked around her torso and pinned her arms to her sides. The body she was now captured against was large…and male. A flash of panic ripped through her.

"It's me." The voice was a barely audible puff of air against her temple, and the rational mind recognized the owner before primitive instincts realized they weren't going to get to fight. Marshall maintained his firm grip as she jerked and muttered a few choice words into his palm.

"Are you done?" he asked in a whisper. She rested back onto her heels and nodded; rewarded by a less hay flavored breath of air.

"What the hell are you doing…" she started to ask, then elbowed him in the ribs instead and hissed, "shhhh…just listen."

Marshall leaned forward over her shoulder to abide by her request, his right hand still resting lightly on her neck and collarbone where it landed after releasing her mouth. Mary was unexpectedly aware of the heat of his fingertips at that delicate pulse point; a tactile distraction that increased her heart rate slightly beyond the prior wariness. A shift of his thumb and she shivered, despite the warmth of the night.

"Is that Sheryl?" he asked, and Mary squeezed her eyes shut to focus. There was a reason one was not supposed to mix hot tubs and alcohol. Nodding in response to his question, she tuned back into the conversation wafting out of the laundry room.

"…shut up!" Sheryl's command was laced with tears. "Don't you dare come near her!"

Carter's chuckle lacked any humor. "Not me, sweetheart. Money isn't the only currency to ensure silence, and Brad just thinks we could look closer to home to encourage…discretion. Especially when there're strangers in town."

"What are you ta-talking about?" Sheryl stuttered. Mary hoped the fear she heard had not been noticed by Carter, but Marshall's hand tightened on her neck and she knew those chances were slim. She just clenched her fists and willed Sheryl to keep her mouth shut.

"The better question would be; what have  _you_  been talking about, Sher?...and who's listening? You think you have friends here? You think you can keep secrets from me? From Brad? You think some boy scout cowboy in your corner is going to save you if we decide it's time for you…and your family…to take a little "vacation?"" Carter's voice dropped into a sinister growl, and the marshals could hear Sheryl's sobs. Marshall had stiffened with Carter's possible allusion to silent observers, and Mary felt her anxiety ratchet up another notch.

"Just leave me alone!" Sheryl cried. "I haven't done anything…I haven't said anything…" Her words ended on a yelp, and Mary tensed.

Marshall's hands were on her biceps, gripping them tightly as he halted her instinctual forward motion. "No, Mary," he murmured through gritted teeth. "We can't…not yet…just wait. Wait."

"We'll find out whether that's true soon enough," Carter said, his words followed by Sheryl's gasp and a clatter of laundry baskets hitting the floor. "We're checking a few things out. Watch yourself…and your brats." His boots tapped across the floor quickly as he strode to the main doors of the laundry room on the other side of the building and pushed through into the night.

More objects were pushed around in the laundry room as Sheryl released a stream of curses in Spanish with a few phrases in a tongue Mary didn't recognize. The woman was sobbing and slamming items around for a few minutes before she, too, rushed out the door Carter had left through minutes before. A silence descended upon the deepening night, and Mary closed her eyes as the adrenaline singing in her veins brought it down an octave.

She had hidden in countless doorways and stairwells as words filled with anger, hate and threats filled the air and pursued her into corners and under beds. Sometimes she had listened with hopes to understand what grievous error had occurred to bring down such wrath…other times she had only prayed and covered her ears. Wished for far away faces and even further places. And sometimes she was forced to intervene. Coerced by pity or a shadow's sense of justice, or some white hot surge of reciprocating anger, she would throw herself into the fray. Those currents sparked in her now.

Marshall felt the gooseflesh beneath his palm smooth as Mary's muscles tensed and she straightened in his grip. Sheryl's departure had left them marooned in the shadows of the laundry and maintenance building until they were sure they were unobserved, and he had been slowly relaxing muscles held tight by anxiety and threat. Heat from his partner's body radiated onto his chest, thighs and groin, and he allowed himself the chance of forced proximity to breathe in the scent of chlorine and citrus while he scolded his libido for suggesting he close the inch gap between them. There were more pressing things to think about…more important matters at stake, but for that moment while she was distracted…

She turned in his arms suddenly, and he released her briefly until she faced him, latching back onto her upper arms to halt any charge into battle she may be contemplating.

"We need to get her out of here, Marshall," she stage whispered. "That's twice in two days she's been threatened and physically assaulted by these fuckwits. That is  _not_  acceptable."

"Though I regret having to play the role of naysayer after witnessing that," he sucked air through his teeth and squinted into the night before continuing, "I have to think this behavior isn't out of the ordinary. The threats may have become more personal…with more intent, but she's been tossed about before this all started."

"So that makes it okay?" Disbelief mixed with anger and Marshall tried to head her off at the pass.

"No, that's makes it normal." He caught her eye in the dim, ambient light. "Unpalatable as it may be, Sheryl is used to this. She knows how to survive in the trenches, and she knows she can dial that number if it gets to a point where bluster and bully tactics become something more malicious. We have to let her call this."

She tried to shrug off his hands, and he allowed her to free one arm in concession. Gave her the length of lead he would give to a nervous and unbroken colt, with a firm grip on the other end. "Think it about it, Mary," he said soothingly as she made a few attempts to peel his fingers off her other bicep, then jammed her hand onto her hip with a snort and glared at him. "They're paranoid. They're jumping at shadows as the walls are starting to close in. That gut feeling that you're being watched…being stalked. You know it…I know it. You start to notice the little things, the normal things. And when those normal things aren't normal anymore, that's when you start changing plans and making bad decisions." She stared down at their feet and tilted her head with a sigh. About to agree. He allowed her a moment to think, then stepped slightly closer to add, "We can't disturb the normal. Not yet."

Mary huffed a quiet chuckle. "Tallywhacker would have our heads if we fucked this up." Looked up at him with an apologetic grin.

He raised one eyebrow in agreement. "Taliswell would have our  _badges_  if we fucked this up. And if what Carter says is true, that they're checking out strangers in town, we'd be putting ourselves into unnecessary danger far before the need arises."

Her grin faded and she worried her bottom lip while a breeze rustled the pines. "Not 'we'… _me_.  _I'd_  be putting us into danger. I need to step back, but it's - "

"Too close to home." Marshall filled in the line as he shifted his weight to face her directly.

 _Too close_ , she thought, suddenly noticing his proximity with the soft words, and she quickly placed her hands on his chest to keep him from encroaching further. His t-shirt was thin under her fingertips, slightly damp from exertions through the evening, and the heat from his skin radiated easily into her palms. A mosaic of starlight and shadows hid his face from her, but Mary had heard his sharp intake of breath and knew he was staring down at her. Intense and still. With senses focused on every point of contact, she felt his fingers curl intimately around her tricep; a calloused caress amplified by the cooler breeze now riding through the valley.

"We need…we need to call…Taliswell will need to know…" Mary tried to force her voice and thoughts towards normalcy, unable to ignore the feel of lean muscle under her fingertips.

Flat footed while he wore his boots, the height difference enhanced the looming presence he presented…the pure maleness of her partner encompassing her, seductive in the desert night. Her fingers twitched in their grip on his chest as she unknowingly leaned into him. He reached up with his other arm to grip her side and steady her, the action instinctive, placing them into an embrace better suited to lovers.

"Mary…" Marshall's voice was a low rumble of warning mixed with the thickness of desire.

She wanted to step away; create the protective distance needed to release herself from whatever spell had been cast by pretense and danger, but his body had reacted to her as well, and she could no more resist slowly brushing her fingers over his now hardened nipple than she could resist breathing. His chest quivered with her exploration, and Marshall reduced the distance between them to less than a molecule by sliding his hand from her arm to around her back. He lowered his head and she looked up, faces inches apart.

Her wandering fingers, her sigh fanning his face, the weight of her barely clad breast resting just above his hand on her ribcage…the woman filled every sense he possessed except one.  _Do something about it._ Gently but firmly, he covered her lips with his own. A taste. A moment to ripple the still surface of deep desire. For as long as she would let him.

Mary had no time to react…no time to hesitate or question or even back away. His mouth covered hers and she was caught. Unprepared. Now, it seemed, her body and mind were unwilling to be released. He tasted of sweat and chapstick, with just a hint of sweet hay that had lightly dusted him in the barn.  _Cowboy._  She stretched into the kiss, needing to kiss him back, and their bodies pressed together. Heat and hardness were impossible to mask, and Mary became aware of her relatively undressed state…and their vulnerable position. She pushed gently at his chest as she pulled away. He released her reluctantly, and she could feel unspoken questions hanging between them.

"Put you in a saddle and you jump right into the role, don't you?" She fidgeted and adjusted her cover-up. Defensive.

Marshall was silent for a moment. "Sometimes it's fun to pretend."

Mary stopped moving to stare at his shadowed form as a horse whinnied loudly in the barn. There was hurt there. "I've never been good at pretending." He took a step towards her and she moved away. "You should get back to the barn, Geronimo." She tried a smile. "Even the horses can smell you way over here."

Blowing out a long breath, Marshall pulled his flannel shirt from the back of his jeans to put on as he looked over at the barn. "Yeah. Eliot's probably thinking I jumped ship." He looked back to her as he did up the buttons. "You call Stan. I'll take care of briefing Taliswell." She nodded and turned to leave when Marshall reached out to snag her wrist. They stared at each other. "Watch yourself, Mary."

"You know I will." She slid away into the night and Marshall carefully checked in all directions before finally striding back to the barn.

/\/\/\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\/\/\/

Sheryl exited the main lodge with a sigh and stretched as she looked towards the lightening eastern sky. Father Sun announced his impending arrival with streaks of pink and purple clouds, heavenly banners that proclaimed his ability to inject life into that which previously had been cold and drifting. There was a reason the Zuni word for 'sun' was the same as the word for 'life'; the latter would not exist without the former and the world would end, and whether from suspicion or some primitive call to worship, she whispered the lyrics of the Sun Song to greet the day. It was mornings like these, weary and alone, that Sheryl pushed aside her usual cynicism towards her grandmother's native beliefs and allowed the old stories to color her world with more than the gray mundane she had known for too long. She knew she suffered from some sort of depression, even took the little white pills everyday that the doctor had ordered. Maybe they helped…maybe not…but she hadn't offed herself or her offspring yet, so she continued to refill the prescription.

Gary's absence had weighed heavily upon her the last few days. She rarely truly missed him now, just brief twinges of loss now and then when a smell or situation reminded her of him, but Brad and Carter's scare tactics had served to more than remind her of how alone she was…how unprotected. No one to run to besides a number on a piece of paper folded to fit into her cell phone. Fingering the object deep in her pocket, she thought about Carter's words the night before; threats that went beyond harm to her, but now included her daughter. A little girl not much younger than the girls she had seen in the river…the girls slated to live a life of servitude and prostitution. Sheryl moaned in frustration. She needed to figure out what Gary would've wanted her to do. Her gut told her she was right; waiting it out knowing that the end of the trial was within sight, and that her actions could possibly change people's lives, but she was scared. She couldn't live with herself if any harm came to the children, and she knew her husband's ghost would haunt even her waking hours.

"Sheryl?" The soft inquiry startled her and she whirled with a gasp, toppling her bucket of supplies.

"I didn't mean to scare you, I'm sorry." Eliot noted the woman's wary stance and the fear behind her eyes with a furrowed brow. His gaze darkened as he saw the long scrape on her arm. "What happened?"

Profound relief rendered her slightly dizzy, and Sheryl's hand shook as she covered the scratch. Closing her eyes briefly, she shook her head. "Nothing. Just tried to get into a corner that was too tight." She looked up as Eliot stepped over to her. "What are you doing here, Eliot?" The man's kind gaze unnerved her this morning, and she swallowed as he considered his answer.

"I heard some rumors that raised my hackles a bit. Things that made me wonder if you were in some sort of trouble." His lips thinned as he slowly reached out to touch the fading bruise on her cheek. "Other than the normal trouble, that is."

She turned her face away from his hand with a heavy sigh. It would be the same argument they had every time there was an "incident." She would tell him the same lies, he would know what really happened, and they would both fervently hope things could be different. That she would let him in…that he would quit asking.

"Tyler wanted to know if you were still going to enter him in the rodeo," she asked the question as she stepped back out of reach. "He's been practicing."

Eliot let his hand fall back to his side and chewed on the inside of his cheek as he looked past her. Finally, he nodded and offered her a crooked smile. "I wouldn't dare disappoint him. He could do the barrels too, you know. He's a natural in the saddle."

"He's six," she said, returning the grin. Another tired argument.

He shrugged. "You can't put an age limit on a cowboy, darlin'. It's in his blood."

She squatted down to place the supplies back into the bucket, thanking him when he retrieved an errant roll of paper towels. Resting her hands on her knees, she blew a piece of stray hair off her forehead. "Fine. I'll think about it, but," she raised on eyebrow as a familiar twinkle appeared in his eye, "don't you dare tell him I said he could until you hear it from me. I know how you two work."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Eliot's face was all fake innocence as he helped her up. Seriousness returned as she readied to leave. "Are you back at ten tonight?"

"You know I am." She tried not to look at him.

Eliot wanted nothing more than to make the world right for her, but could only offer what he knew she would accept. "I'll meet you at the road. Keep the coyotes away." For some reason, she looked as though she would cry, the usual line producing an unusual reaction. Before he could move, though, she was walking away with a small wave. Retreat.

He watched the first rays of the sun alight on her hair, the glossy black shot through with red and gold as her ponytail swayed in tandem with her hips. 'What could be' tasted as dusty as the arroyos in July, but he was damned if he'd abandon her. There would be a day of reckoning for those who tormented her…and he only prayed he'd get to be there to throw the first stone.


	10. Frank Anderson

_**"Speakin' to you, pig shit..."** _

_– High Plains Drifter_

_**-o-o-** _

_**"We all have our ghosts, Marshal. You hunt your way, I'll hunt mine."** _

_– Hangem High_

* * *

The wind had shifted. Breezes that had yesterday smelled faintly of valley shrubs and diesel as they swept across town now carried the clean scent of high desert pine and a hint of snow from the far off higher ranges near Albuquerque and Santa Fe. It may not have brought the rain carelessly predicted, but the cold front had finally descended upon the quiet mesas and righted the weather to the season. A noticeably cooler morning that promised deep blue skies and jackets tied about waists by midday.

Tilting his face to the rising sun, Brad closed his eyes and let the fledgling rays warm his cheeks. He'd been riding for a half hour, the main ranch now in sight as his mare ambled eagerly towards breakfast, and the chill of pre-dawn seemed to have soaked into his bones. Slowed his thoughts into reminiscence. He remembered riding out before first light with Gary when they were barely big enough to haul the saddles out of the tack room. Sneaking off with BB guns and old traps with grand plans to hunt elusive coyotes and stray armadillos. Boys that still believed the world was theirs to conquer from the back of a horse…still believed they'd do it together. Dreams.

Resettling himself into the saddle with a snort, Brad refocused on the trail and dismissed the old useless thoughts as he could now hear the distant calls of the wranglers while they opened the barns to greet the day. He couldn't say he actually missed his brother...it was more of a pervasive sense of regret that he hadn't offloaded the younger man sooner. A feeling that he, himself, could've been great had he only had the foresight to see that a sibling more interested in the welfare of others would drag him down. He had waited too long and shared too much with Gary, and the time to simply walk away had passed before he noticed. It really was his own fault, he supposed. Some odd sense of loyalty or obligation that circulated with shared DNA had led him to doubt his own disdain, and he actually felt guilty for a while afterwards. Just for a while. Brad pulled off his hat to run fingers through his hair and shake off the ghosts of the past. He was thinking of Gary too much these days. Like the girls in the gulley, the dead should remain dead.

A muffled 'boom' echoed through the canyon he had ridden out of, and Brad looked over his shoulder instinctively. It wouldn't be noticed, the noises of demolition and test aircraft a common occurrence in the empty deserts, but knowing the source of the sound had him checking shadows. He swore he could still smell the sweet, putrid scent of decay though he had traveled far beyond its reach. Carter had called him at quarter past four with the news; they had found the missing girls. Two stupid girls who thought they could elude the desert and his men three days ago. Shaking his head, Brad had to concede to the women; they were lucky death and the coyotes had found them first. In whatever order, he didn't care. A sense of relief replaced trepidation as he at least knew the girls hadn't reached civilization…hadn't alerted anyone. He was too close to making this deal.

Carter had stayed behind with two men to bury the bodies in a rock slide…no chance of discovery by errant hikers or scavengers. Brad looked back over his shoulder again.  _Carter_. Lately, his lead ranch hand had been nothing but the bearer of bad news...bad news and bad feelings. There was an undercurrent of defiant posturing that was leaving a sour taste in his mouth…making him warier than he'd prefer to be at this juncture. He needed someone watching his back, not targeting it.

His cell phone chirped an alert and he startled despite himself. "What?" he answered curtly. His face flushed with anger as Carter's voice filled his ear, and he kicked the horse into a trot. "How long have they been here?" he snapped. A sense of urgency crawled along his skin as he cursed under his breath while Carter talked.

"I'm going to fucking fix it, that's what," Brad growled in response to Carter's inquiry. "Just shut up and meet me in my office when you get back."

**-o-o-**

Carter paced. Wall to wall, running his knuckles along the back of the same chair every time he passed. He grumbled under his breath and sighed at every other turn and Brad's last nerve was ready to snap.

"Either sit the fuck down or get the fuck out," he hissed around the mouthpiece of his phone, glaring daggers at the larger man.

"You've been on hold for twenty fucking minutes - "

"I know how long I've been on hold!" Brad growled. His hand slammed down on the desktop in emphasis. "The asshole's going to make me wait as long as he can to prove some goddamn point."

Carter stopped, crossed his arms with a sneer. "You wouldn't catch me waiting on the whims of some spic," he spat. "Letting some crack head wanna be treat me like a begging dog."

Brad's gaze flattened into a deadly stare. "And that's exactly why you'll always be sniffing someone else's ass, moron. You don't understand how to play - " His attention was jerked to a voice over the phone.

"Lùcho? Como estàs?" Brad silently cursed the sweat that broke out on his forehead. He wasn't expecting to get the older brother, and he doubted his smattering of Spanish would impress. "Am I to understand that Goyo informed you of our potential problem?" He had tersely relayed Carter's information to the first man that had answered the number.

Wincing as the voice on the other end let loose a string of creative curses, Brad methodically shredded the butt of his recently smoked cigarette. "No…no," he tried to sound reassuring, "I haven't seen anyone suspicious here at the ranch itself. No one's been out to the tunnels for sure. It's just a potential issue in town."

He flicked the ruined butt out the window and pinched the bridge of his nose; irritation growing to the point of carelessness as the man continued to protest. "Listen, Lùcho," he interrupted, "I don't know _whose_  operation pinged the radar. We've both been giving the feds stiffies for a couple of years now. What I need…you need…is clean up.  _Your_  kind of clean up. If they're sniffing at  _you_ , they're gonna find you. If they're sniffing at  _me_ …they're still gonna find you. Consider this more of a courtesy call than anything."

Carter had resumed pacing and Brad turned to rest his forehead against the window pane, staring out onto the stables as he gripped the wooden jamb above his head. For a moment, he was distracted as he watched a few of the new wranglers. The tall lean one was talking to Eliot, and the two men shared a laugh. An easy camaraderie that made him grit his teeth as he pondered his current situation. He knew he was skating on thin ice with the eldest Garcia, but this was no time to show weakness. He listened to Carter's grumblings again while he was excluded from the hushed argument on the other side of the phone line. Maybe it was time for a sacrifice…

Lùcho barked a few more questions and Brad made a decision. "Listen, if you're worried about a leak, it would most likely be Parker White. Pansy ass cop in town who's been a little too interested in what we really do out here. Carter's talked to him a few times."

"Jesus, Brad!" Carter protested quietly, eyes wide. Brad waved a silencing hand at him with a glare.

"I don't care, really," Brad responded to some question. "I just want it neutralized and you have the people to do it. My resources are not only limited, they're likely to be messy. I doubt either of us want a mess?"

His brief flirtation with bravado fled like a lover out the window at the man's low and threatening words. Slowly lowering himself into his chair, Brad kept his voice steady. "Yes…this is the one and only time. I agree. You're right…that would be highly inconvenient for you." He took a breath to continue, but the connection was severed. Snapping the phone shut, he twirled it in his fingers for a moment while continuing to stare out the window. Carter, somehow sensing his fragile grip on reason, was blissfully silent.

Brad finally slid the phone into its holder and regarded his deputy with a furious gaze. "It's taken care of."

/\/\/\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\/\/

"C'mon, Mary, everyone's doing it," Diane cajoled in a sing-song, lightly punching Mary's arm as the trio of women walked towards the main barn.

Mary shot her a sideways glare and a sarcastic reply. "Gee, hate to miss the lemming fest, but I'll pass."

"You know it's not just riding events, right?" Sophie asked. "You read the flyer; you can do ropework, target shooting…or there's always the greased pig wrangle." They all snickered.

Mary's mind immediately flashed back to the Marshall-witnessed power struggle between her and Eleanor in the office that one day.  _Greased up…he'd like that_. Unable to completely smother the chuckle, she conceded slightly. "Fine. I'll  _consider_  the target shooting. But don't get your hopes up."

"You better be watching though," Diane said. "I hear there's some interesting wagering on the side for the wrangler events."

"What? Do you read the scrambled eggs like tea leaves or something?" Mary peered at Diane as they entered the barn. "Where's your intel coming from?"

"'Intel?'" echoed Sophie. "Now you sound like a cop. My ex-boyfriend was a cop. He was always talking about 'intel' and 'assessment threats' or some such crap."

Mary stared at Sophie for a moment while her brain veered onto the shoulder. "Um, well, there's a lot of cop wanna-be's at the jail. Hoping their dicks grow longer if they toss around the jargon."

The horses whinnied their welcomes as the rest of the women slowly wandered into the barn, and Mary was happy to see Manuel and Eliot amble towards them. Distraction…of the male variety. Nothing better to abduct the current topic of conversation. She zipped up her jacket in the coolness of the barn and shoved her hands into the pockets. Though grateful the change in weather would bring cooler days, it had been hard to crawl out of the warm bed this morning. Especially with the prospect of potential equine conniption fits…or the eventual awkward moment with her partner.

She licked her lips unconsciously as she again thought about that kiss. That unexpectedly toe curling kiss. The morning became slightly warmer as her thoughts wandered back into the shadows of night and desire. She could still feel his palm spread along her ribcage…hear his faint groan of pleasure…

"Mary?" The voice penetrated her wayward thoughts and she looked up quickly. "What?" She was irritated by her inattention.

"Just waiting for your decision, darlin'." Eliot's crooked grin could soothe colicky babies. "Manuel's taking a group for a challenging trail ride and picnic, and I'm working with anyone who wants to hone some riding and training skills. We've got a few foals we're introducing to new activities if you're interested."

Baby horses sounded infinitely more attractive than straining sore muscles while humping up another trail drenched in sweat. They were told to saddle up their horses as the wranglers tended to their own duties, planning to meet either at the trail head or in the corral when ready. The women chit chatted while they drug out tack and supplies, Mary trying to focus on what she had learned the days previous and pick the correct equipment. Satisfied with her choices, she lugged everything to Marshal's stall. He nickered and bobbed his head at her approach.

"Don't get excited, Numbnuts," she greeted him. "This isn't going to be quick or pretty. Kinda like a drunk fuck; we'll both be a sweaty mess, but no one's quite sure if the effort was worth it."

Twently minutes later, she was sure Marshal was laughing at her and the saddle still looked crooked. Most of the other women had made their way outside, and Mary was left alone to glare at her four legged companion. The horse twitched and stomped while swatting at flies with his tail, and Mary batted said tail away from her face. "Glue," she muttered, reaching over to adjust the buckle. A faint humming and murmuring reached her ears. A child's voice.

Standing to peer over the stall door, she located the source of the sound crouched behind one of the large tack trunks. Leanne was kneeling in the dirt singing softly to a pair of kittens that batted at her handfuls of straw. The girl seemed oblivious to Mary's struggles or to the other denizens of the barn, lost in her world of play. That all changed in an instant as a faint shout reached her ears.

"Leanne!" A male voice. "Leanne! Now!" She watched as Leanne's expression grew furtive and worried. The child folded into a starter's stance as she scooted nearer the wall. Hiding and waiting for the chance to bolt. Mary felt her own muscles tense in response.

_She could see the river through the gingerbread lattice surrounding the dark recesses under the porch; sat crouched and still in the stuffy hidey hole where the smells of old Chinese food and dead things occasionally gave way to a whiff of briny water. No one had ever found her here, tucked away down the alley and behind the boxes that slowly decayed over time. She could hear her mother's faint calls, but the tone and intensity hadn't yet reached the screeching desperation that required a response._

_Mary picked at the scab on her right knee as she eyed the larger boats chugging towards the harbor, oblivious to the stray cobweb in her hair and dirt under her fingernails while she watched the men walking on the docks. Anonymous figures that could be anyone…and maybe someone. Maybe that's where her Daddy had gone. One day had stood upon the dock and looked for her before he jumped onto a boat to float away into the sea. Off on an adventure that he would surely return from in order to regale her and Brandi with stories of far off places; loaded down with trinkets painted with palm trees and hula girls. Just like the ones Jenny Romanowski was showing off at school._

_She knew Jenny was lying. Knew her uncle hadn't gotten on an airplane and flew to where summer was winter and the world was upside down. It was stupid. Jenny was stupid. Mary winced as the scabbed pulled away to leave a drop of blood welling in its place. She wiped it away with her palm and again watched the boats. Hoping._

" _Mary!" Jinx's calls were getting closer and Mary sighed as she rested her forehead against he wooden slats. It was time to go before she was discovered. She scuttled backwards out from under the porch, and reached up to tighten her pigtails while slowly walking down the alley towards the street. Her mother rounded the corner, carrying Brandi, just as she stepped into the sunlight._

" _Mary Shannon," Jinx exclaimed, exasperated, "didn't you hear me calling and calling? The whole neighborhood knows I'm looking for you." Mary just shrugged. Brandi smiled and reached for her, babbling. She took the wriggling toddler from her mother with a small smile, and Jinx straightened her dress and turned to march back towards the apartment, assuming her oldest daughter would dutifully follow. "You know we need to be home before five, Mary. Henry expects dinner on the table and you need to help with Brandi. Why do you make me come look for you? And you're a mess!..."_

_The litany of transgressions were ignored as Mary turned her attention to securing her baby sister onto her hip. She looked to where the child patted her arms, studied the bruises from the day before and wondered when the first boats docked in the morning._

"Leanne!" The shout shattered Mary's thoughts, and she identified the voice as Brad's. Leanne looked even more frantic, and years of hiding people dictated her next actions.

"Leanne," she called quietly to the child and motioned her over. "Come here…quickly. Before he gets in here."

The girl swung her head around to stare at her for moment. Deciding. Just as Mary thought it would be too late, Leanne dashed out from behind the tack trunk and raced over to slip into Marshal's stall. She squatted down between Mary's legs and the stall door and closed her eyes. Mary only had a moment to shift her position before Brad strode into the barn. His gaze darted around and landed on her and he forced a weak smile.

"Miss Shepherd." He tipped his hat reflexively. "Have you seen a little girl with black hair go through here just recently? I'm trying to round her up for her mama."

 _Liar._  Mary knew Sheryl's schedule, and she was home sleeping while the nanny had charge of the children. She furrowed her brow and shook her head. "Sorry, no. Haven't seen her at all." Brad's eyes flashed angrily as he swore and she stepped closer to Leanne's hidden form.

"If you do see her," he growled, "send her to my office in the main lodge. Immediately." Turning abruptly, he stalked down the aisle and disappeared out the back doors. Mary waited a few minutes before stepping back to regard the child now staring up at her. She reached down to help Leanne up.

"Your uncle didn't sound very happy with you." Leanne's gaze dropped to the floor and she shrugged. Mary waited, but the girl offered no explanation. "Is he mad at you a lot?" Another shrug and a reluctant nod. Marshal stepped over to nudge the side of Leanne's head, and she reached out to stroke his nose.

"He doesn't like us. Me and my brother." The girl's voice was barely above a whisper.

Mary felt an ache in her chest at the sadness in the words. She could only imagine the hoops the child had likely jumped through in trying to win affection from her uncle. "I'm sorry, Leanne, that must be lonely. Does he yell at you a lot?" She had a thousand questions running through her head and probably about a minute to ask them. "Does he hit you?"

Leanne's gaze flew up to meet her eyes in a startled glance, then slid sideways as the girl stared at the wall in a long moment of silence. "I'm not supposed to talk to strangers," she said flatly. Mary straightened in surprise, then sighed and smiled reassuringly.

"No, you're right. You're not. Do you have somewhere safe to go?" Somehow, she knew the answer, and was relieved when the girl nodded. "Okay, run there now and try to stay out of your uncle's way, okay?" Leanne was out the door before she finished giving her leave, and Mary followed out into the aisle to watch the child sprint out of sight. She felt nervous. Old fears mixed with the ever present wariness of the operation.

"You need some help, Mare?" Marshall's voice sounded behind her and she whirled with an arm up in warding, oblivious to his approach. He stepped back and regarded her with concern. "You okay?" His eyes darted around quickly to check the shadows for threats; looked her over.

Mary released a breath and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, once more glancing towards the doorway Leanne had left through. "Yeah. But I'm getting a bad feeling about this whole thing."

Marshall's look of concern deepened and he took a step closer. "What happened?"

She opened her mouth to tell him, then realized that if he had come looking for her, she had been missed. Therefore, people were waiting. It was no time to explain the heebie jeebies. "It's nothing. I'll fill you in later." She brushed by him to reach into the gray's stall and lead Marshal out. "If we don't get back out there, Diane will think I'm assaulting your virtue and storm in to get a piece." Marshall's slightly alarmed look amused her and she chuckled. "Let's go, Cowboy."

They were out the door and halfway to the corral before Mary stopped looking over her shoulder.


	11. Derek Hotsinpiller

_**"You just keep thinkin' Butch. That's what you're good at."** _

_– Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid_

-o-o-

_**"When I get paid, I always see the job through."** _

_\- The Good, the Bad and the Ugly_

* * *

Marshall had a feeling that the oddities of the morning would only continue to mount for the rest of day, and he would likely spend the late hours staring at the dark ceiling of his room analyzing the day's events before he'd be able to sleep. A hushed commotion in the bunk house during the pre-dawn hours had had him curious, and that grew into suspicion by the time he sat down with hot coffee at breakfast. Carter and three other ranch hands had headed out under the cover of darkness without a word as to where they were going. Manuel and Tucky only had shrugs to match his own, and he didn't find Eliot until he nearly ran into the man coming around the side of the main barn after all the other wranglers had started on morning tasks. The southerner had the look of a man trying to cover his tracks and only offered a terse greeting to Marshall before swiftly ducking into the barn. Finally, after the morning seemed to have undergone a shift back to normal, he saw Brad.

The man strode out of the barn with countenance and posture broadcasting anger. He attempted to slam the barn door behind him, roughly kicked a cat out of his path and completed his Godzilla themed departure by ripping a childishly drawn rodeo poster off the fence and tearing it to pieces while stomping towards the main lodge. Rage and impatience; a combination which did not bode well for any in his path…or any left behind. Eliot had told him to grab Mary out of the barn and his senses went on high alert.

He didn't see her at first, the transition from sunlight to shade too quick for his pupils to accommodate, and he peered into the relatively dim interior for a moment while he listened; a retreating shuffle near the side doors, the whuff and grunt of a few horses…nothing more. The shadows formed edges, then developed color, and he spotted his partner standing motionless in the middle of the aisle as she stared across the stalls.

Chin and cheekbones in profile, she looked every bit a cowgirl-clad Sarmatian in her still contemplation of the far doors. Poised for battle or flight…whichever would guarantee victory at the end. He could tease her all he wanted for lack of skill and knowledge in the arena that currently surrounded her, but there was never an instant of doubt that she would rise to any challenge and battle ferociously despite perceived shortcomings. Admirable, in his eyes, but others – he thought of Brad's tantrum – should fear her for the very same reasons.

She startled unexpectedly at his greeting, a fleeting moment of self-protective cowering that set his teeth on edge. Another glimpse into a past that seemed to be drawn to the surface like reluctant maple sap here in the desert. Marshall worried. Worried her sharpness…her reason…would be trapped in those viscous remembrances clinging to open wounds, and he would be playing cowboy as she stood in the path of danger. The pain from knowing those consequences was still too fresh. He unconsciously rubbed a hand over his heart as he asked what happened.

Once again he was cut off at Reminiscence Pass, and Mary easily sidestepped both the issue and him as she teased him out of the barn. They walked into the sunlight and he quickly glanced around for Diane. Mary was right, she was likely keeping close tabs on him. He couldn't deny that Diane's interest was flattering; an attractive, interesting woman making eyes at him was never to be taken lightly, but Marshall knew he had to walk that fine line between casual player and full-time Lothario.

"I think your conclusion that your roommate is looking to deflower me may be a bit premature. Not all women subscribe to your practice of…accelerated mating habits." He stopped beside her as she launched herself into the saddle and set a steadying hand on her mount. She surprised him by laughing out loud…a full laugh that had him gazing up at her with a bit of awe.

"Words like 'deflower' are why you never get laid, Marshall." She cleared her throat and cocked an amused eyebrow. "I'd say she simply devours her mates, but her plans for you seem to involve a four course dinner.

He tried to counter the heat rising in his cheeks with a sneer, knowing she had seen the telltale color by the way she rolled her eyes while 'hupping' her horse into motion. "Watch your back," Mary called over her shoulder. "And shave your ass. Diane's really determined to get her hands on it."

"I don't have a hairy ass!" he called, then looked around quickly. No one. Thankfully. Her snort of amusement carried back to him and he slapped at the dirt on his jeans while he stomped after her.  _Damn woman_. The day definitely had him off kilter, and it was time to get his head on straight.

-o-o-

"Darlin', you need to relax. That poor animal is about to scrape you off on the fence if you fight him much longer." Eliot's slightly amused correction grated on her nerves and only served to make her grip the reins more tightly. Marshal balked and tossed his head, stepping backwards despite her chanted 'whoas' until Eliot grabbed the bridle. He whispered to the irritated gray until it stopped dancing around and both males seemed to share an inside joke. Mary looked to the heavens and fumed.

It wasn't enough that she was hot and sweaty despite the cooler day, or that she seemed to be the only one of the small group of women in the corral to be incapable of coaxing her horse to walk the simple obstacle course. No. She had to grit her teeth and listen to her partner blatantly flirt with Diane and Sophie while they pretended to need assistance.

 _Enjoying the role, are we, partner?_  The voice in her head whined petulantly and she snorted at the unexpected twinge of hurt. Was she honestly having a mental hissy fit about Marshall's attentions to some oversized farm girl and her wingman? Diane was of as much interest to him as Eliot was to her…wasn't she? Just part of the job. An ancillary character that made the some of the insufferable aspects of undercover work just slightly more palatable. It wasn't like he was kissing  _Diane_  in the dark. Her mind immediately relived some of the tactile residuals of said kiss and Mary reflexively pulled on the reins.

Marshal's abrupt right turn and her own inattention resulted in Eliot's sharp 'whoa!' and Mary's yelp as she slid sideways from her perch while scrabbling frantically for the saddlehorn. Her foot caught in the stirrups, gravity reached out a fiendish hand, and she landed flat on her back in the dirt with a strangled cough. The horse, to his credit, stood still after she hit the ground and looked down at her with a satisfied grin.

"Stu-pid…" she gasped out as her shocked diaphragm slowly relaxed, noting the incredibly deep blue of the sky for the first time while she glared at the offending beast. A silhouette quickly blocked her view.

"Sweetheart, I sure hope you're not planning on dying now." Eliot knelt down next to her and looked her over. "Payday is Friday and I'd hate to have to take funeral costs out."

"She okay?" Mary heard the concern in Marshall's voice as he trotted over, and tried to catch her breath before he got to them. No need to stress her partner with her own stupidity…even if he  _was_  to blame for the distraction. She braced her arms and levered into a sitting position with a grunt and an assist from Eliot. "Peachy," she croaked.

Marshall stopped a few feet away, indecision written on his face. She knew he wanted to assess her himself, but that degree of familiarity would be out of place in their current roles. Instead, he had to trust Eliot's administrations. After settling for giving her a quick, visual once over, she saw the corner of his mouth twitch.

"Don't you dare laugh, asshole," she warned, now pushing herself to her feet, refusing any help from Eliot even as she stumbled into the side of her horse.

"Never crossed my mind," Marshall lied, his smirk growing.

Mary's resulting glower slowly transformed into a sly grin that had her partner's eyes widen slightly in apprehension. They may not be able to outwardly insult one another, but there were other ways to play the game. Brushing her hair back and resetting her hat, Mary grimaced and held her hand to her ribs as she addressed Eliot.

"Wow," she caught her breath purposefully, "I may have bruised a few ribs." She tugged her shirt free of her jeans to expose her side. "Do you think they're broken?"

Eliot approached with a concerned frown and leaned down to run his hand over the smooth skin, rumbling an assessing 'hmmm…' Mary looked over the top of his head to catch Marshall's eye. Hand on his hips now, he rolled his eyes and mouthed 'pathetic' before turning to amble back to the girls. Mary's chuckle died on a flinch as Eliot's probing fingers actually did hit a tender spot. "Ow! Jesus, you don't need to poke it."

"Just bruised," he announced, pulling her shirt down and smiling kindly, fingers lingering on her hip. She smiled back reflexively, suddenly sure many a woman fell victim to that crooked grin and those appealing dimples…the man was southern sex on a stick. A cocktail she had experienced before; potent and smooth, it kept you up all night. And the hangover came with a drawl.

"Guess I need to get back on that ride, hmm?" she asked, not completely released from his spell.

Eliot reached over to gather Marshal's reins, leaning in until his arm brushed across her breasts. His breath was close to her ear as he chuckled agreement, and Mary shivered as she thought of…Marshall. _What!_

"Sweeney!" Mary barely registered the shout and resulting loss of Eliot's attention while her mind chewed on the Freudian slip. He turned away as she slowly climbed back onto the gray.

Marshall watched Brad motion the wrangler over with an impatient wave as he approached the corral. The man had a stranger in tow; work clothes and a large tackle box with an electrician's logo on the side announcing his purpose. Keeping one eye on the women in front of him, Marshall tuned into the conversation by the fence.

"Eliot, grab a truck and head out to Redpoint barn. Apparently we aren't quite up to code." He jerked a thumb at the man beside him. "Keep an eye on him." The abrupt handoff complete, Brad turned to stalk back towards the main lodge. His mood had apparently not improved with the morning.

The men left standing at the fence quickly introduced themselves, then Eliot turned to glance questioningly at Marshall with a jerk of his chin towards Mary. "You got this?"

Marshall watched Mary lead her horse in a slow turn with a scowl on her face. She was distracted, but at least she was seated securely in the saddle. He reassured Eliot with a smile. "I'm pretty sure I'm not the one getting the short end of the stick." He got a rude salute in return before the men ambled off.

"So, Marshall," Diane reclaimed his attention. "How about leaving the youngsters in charge and joining us for a trail ride before lunch?" The invitation was benign, the sparkle in her eye was not. She rode around him slowly as the other women began to urge their horses towards the road, Mary forgotten at the far end of the arena.

"The invitation and all of its connotations are much appreciated," he said as he reached up to capture her mount's bridle and led them out of the corral, "but I have a feeling that if I leave Mary alone the youngsters may not survive until the dinner bell."

Diane pouted. Marshall smiled. "Do you really want to bunk with her if her day gets any worse?" His point made, he watched the resigned redhead and her friends ride down the road a few minutes later, their laughter floating back along with a few sassy waves. He was only allowed to indulge in the attention for a moment.

"When you're done pretending they're actually attracted to you, get the hell over here and show me how to make this idiot horse turn left." Mary had obviously left flirtatious by the wayside in favor of surly. He glanced around for any curious ears before sauntering back in her direction, but all the activity seemed to be concentrated in the stables across the way.

"The horse, as with most creatures that are subjected to your attentions, expects a certain level of consideration that it does not know you are unable to offer." He bit the inside of his lip in amusement as he approached. Her glare had darkened to a glower.

"Shut your hole and fix this damn animal," she warned.

He reached her and steadied Marshal, slapping Mary's hands away from the reins. "First, you've got these knotted too high. There's too much tension on his mouth and he thinks you want him to do too many things at once." Mary sat back in the saddle and looked dubious. "It's a little like walking into a hot zone with civilians inside knowing you've also got a sniper in the balcony. Hard to decide what takes precedence."

She grunted understanding. "I'm making him nervous."

"You make  _everyone_  nervous." He dodged her swing and the horse shied away causing her to grab the saddlehorn.

"Second," he drawled. "You need to stop making sudden movements…like that. I could expound upon the finer workings of the equine nervous system - "

"Please don't," she begged.

" – but suffice it to say that they are finely attuned to their rider's subtle cues. Especially a horse like this who's been conditioned by skilled riders. He's a professional…you're a rookie. You  _know_  how that feels in the field."

"Except  _I_  don't have a loaded gun and a propensity to let off flyers," she countered.

"Really?" he asked, eyebrow cocked. "And I suppose the big guy just decided to dump you on your ass earlier for no reason?"

She opened her mouth to reply, then snapped it shut, and he was almost sure there was a hint of a blush. "Fine," she huffed, subdued. "I know the drill. I just can't get him to follow the course, and there were too many people around."

Marshall returned the reins to her with a grin, squeezing her knee quickly in encouragement before stepping away. "Take him through again, slowly. I'll help you with the cues. Just like Des Moines."

Mary couldn't help but chuckle, shaking her head as she shot him a look. "I hardly think a game of blindfolded mini-golf is a valid comparison here."

"Who won the championship?" He teased, climbing up to sit atop the corral's fence. "I have a trophy if you've forgotten."

"It's a sickness, Marshall," she replied, lining the horse up with the course's starting posts. "You need help."

Mary took a deep breath and put effort into relaxing her shoulders and hips as she gently urged Marshal into the course. She let the horse have his lead, trying to only hint at direction with a knee and smooth movements on the reins. One barrel, two…Marshall's voice suggesting a shift in weight or a wider track from time to time the only interruption in her concentration. She thought she felt the horse relax beneath her by the time they made their second pass, a tactile expression of some trust, or at least a reluctant truce. Marshall made a show of clapping for her as she brought them out of the last gate and she tossed her head with a cocky grin.

"See? A little thigh action and they're putty in my hands," she teased.

He ignored the bait and crossed his arms in challenge. "Take it at a trot."

"What? Why? I just have to make it around the barrels for the points, right?"

Marshall shook his head slowly. "Accuracy  _and_  speed." He let her think for a minute. "Diane and Sophie both think they'll be the fastest, so don't worry about it too much. You can just go for the minimum points." The veiled insult hung in the air.

Mary knew the game. Saw the morsel of cheese in the trap and the twinkle in her partner's eye. She also remembered the too eager fantasies of a certain redhead voiced the night before. She'd be damned if Kansas was going to trump Jersey. Tossing a sneer in Marshall's direction, she wheeled the gray around to start the course again.

They weren't yet halfway through when Mary was nearly bounced out of the saddle, irritated and swearing as she was unable to match the rhythm of Marshal's trot. "Jesus! Whoa!...just, whoa!" The horse jostled to a stop. Her ass was going to hurt tomorrow. A dry chuckle from the fence grated on her nerves.

"I suppose you just want to ooze some Jedi-cowboy spooge all over that, too?" she dryly asked.

He raised his eyebrows. "So crude…but,  _yes_ , I do have a suggestion."

"Spill it, Tonto."

"In order to stay seated without abuse, you should practice what's called a 'posting trot.' It's a mirror image, in a way, of the horse's movement." He jumped down from the fence to walk towards her. "It's hard to describe, but I can show you…"

She had felt the heat creep up her neck into her face at his words, the hot tub discussion only too fresh in her mind, and quickly urged the horse back towards the beginning of the course. "No, no…that's okay. I know what it is. Let me just try it."

Marshall looked at her curiously. "You know it? Let me see you do it." His tone was decidedly skeptical. "And off the course. Just trot around the ring."

Mary turned the horse around with a muttered curse and sigh and gently kicked him into a slow trot. She had a moment of false confidence as the rhythmic gait seemed easily manageable, but it quickly turned to frustration and a flailing struggle to remain balanced as the mount sped up and his rider lurched sideways and grabbed at his mane.

"Don't drop the reins, Mare!" warned Marshall, himself trotting over to intervene. "Squeeze your knees together…drop down…slow him down…"

A minute later she was fuming silently as Marshall stood next to her trying not to laugh while the horse pawed at the dirt, once again denied his exercise. "That was most definitely  _not_  a posting trot," he said with a grin. "Let me just guide you through the motion a few times, give you the feel of it. It's more of a circular motion than straight up and down. Possibly even elliptical or ovoid - "

"Or a moot point if you keep talking." Mary set her jaw and stared him down.

Chastised, he tipped his hat at her and began to describe the rolling movements the rider would use to remain seated on the trotting horse. Counted out the straight-backed rise and fall that needed to accompany the slight forward thrust of the hips during the upward motion. Mary took the gray back out along the rail as she tried to follow his directions, murmuring her own count and mimicking his slightly comical motions as Marshall stood on solid ground. Her ultimate frustration closely matched that of the horse, and she again brought them to a stop.

"God dammit, Marshall," she barked, "I'm getting bruises where I shouldn't have bruises.

He winced. "I really just need to show you. Just hold on to the reins to keep him still."

She was too focused on the task at first to register the position of his hands as he reached up to grip her torso. One palm pressed to her abdomen, the other supporting the small of her back, he coaxed her through the movements. "Keep your back straight through the whole cycle. It's the hips that are going to absorb the front and back movement."

He slid his hand further down her back to press at the top of her pelvis, forcing the required tilt at the top of the rise, and her attention was suddenly drawn to a particularly non-bruised portion of her anatomy. Slow curls of heat were winding their way into her belly, following the lines of Marshall's long fingers as they curled just under her navel, and settling even lower. He was still encouraging her with smooth tones, but the words were no longer registering, and the cadence of his voice became seductive to her ear; coaxing her in a rhythm that needed little translation.

He wasn't sure at what moment instruction became more sensual than educational, but Marshall found himself pressing his hands more tightly against his partner's soft form as his words slowly faded away. Palms to fingers reached from hipbone to hipbone and he cradled the most intimate parts of her as he coaxed her movements. A slow, lazy rhythm that had him envisioning damp bodies sliding along each other while urgent moans filled the air. His hand settled lower onto her abdomen, his own body now tightening with urgency as he could feel her heat through her jeans, and he imagined he felt her thrust against his palm as he curled his other hand around the curve of her ass.

Mary brought her hand quickly to his, stilling any further movement, but trapping him against her zipper as she slowly settled back into her seat. "Marshall," she whispered, licking her lips and slowly bringing her eyes up to meet his, pupils similarly black with arousal. She felt slightly vulnerable in the saddle, offered to him in some way, and for a moment imagined herself straddling him as he explored her…pleased her. She leaned down towards him.

He wanted her. Wanted to drag her off that horse and have her wrap her legs around him while he gripped her ass and kissed her long and deep. But not now…not here. Pulling back slowly, he ran the fingers of one hand down along her inner thigh, watching the muscles bunch alluringly at his touch. "If there weren't eyes…" he explained, looking back at her to make sure she clearly understood his meaning.

Mary breathed deeply and tried to regain some semblance of reason as Marshall finally stopped torturing her with his touch, his hand now wrapped around her knee. There was no mistaking desire this time, no second guessing intentions. And her own reaction could no longer be ignored for what it was; she wanted Marshall.

"I think..." she swallowed and looked away as the words stuck in her throat. "I think it's time to stop thinking."

He stared at her silently until she again met his gaze. Blue eyes that reflected the sky somehow wary, expressing uncertainty that only encouraged her own resolve. "Marshall, I - "

"When we're done here, Mare." His voice was low and rough with emotion.

Any argument was forgotten as the voices of the returning riders reached them from the road, and Marshall stepped away from horse and rider to don his sunglasses and recover some of his wits. He watched Mary shade her eyes also, unwilling to offer a glimpse of vulnerability to any others.

"I have to run into town for some supplies tonight, and I'm going to stop by the hotel room to check on some of the satellite feeds and intel reports. I may need to call you, so keep your phone on you." He provided some focus for her. She nodded and gave him a tight smile before urging Marshal into motion in order to meet the returning riders.

"And, Mary?" he called to her with a grin before she had gone far. "You're going to get your ass kicked in those barrel races."

\/\/\/\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\/\/\/\

Dusk was best. The light of day carried clarity and purpose, and the chance of discovery was too great. The hunter could stalk…plot…but execution needed to wait until darkness began to creep into the sky. Wait too long and the night would set the prey on alert, instinct making them wary of shadows, reason making them cautious. It was then too late. The hour while lavender shadows faded to indigo was the time to strike. Simple anatomy was on his side; the eye unable to distinguish depth and color within the palette of blues, and his target was focused on attaining relative safety before nightfall, sure of surviving another day.

The man walked purposefully towards the door, close to the wall to disguise his silhouette. Another traveler returning to a temporary abode in a temporary town. He swiftly entered the motel room with the stolen key, closing the door behind him without turning on a light. He had time to wait. Time to adjust to the dark coolness of the room and peer curiously at the odd assortment of colored LEDs that decorated the desk and countertop. He was tempted. It would be easy to pocket some items of interest once he was done, but the risk was too great.  _Bring nothing…take nothing._  The clothes on his back, the weapon in his pocket. He would leave with nothing more than another marker on a mental tally.

A chair in the corner sufficed for a perch as he silently sat and waited. Long enough to still his mind, but no so long he had to shift his weight. Parking lot lights flickered into full illumination outside the curtains and a shadow passed by the window. The man took a deep breath and lifted the weapon off his lap, the telltale sounds of a lock release bringing a small smile to his lips. They always come home.

He had only a moment after the door opened before the tall man silhouetted by the lights postured an alert; ambush quickly turning into an unfair duel. The hunter squeezed off two muffled shots and the man in the doorway fell immediately. A moment…two…and he was out of the chair towards the exit, carefully stepping over the fallen man's hat. Unexpected movement at his ankle and he looked down quickly.

Two more shots rang out into the night.


	12. Bill Degan

_**"I'm your backup, okay? I'm on a need to know basis!"** _

_**"You don't need to know dick, and I don't need a backup."** _

_**–** Space Cowboys_

_-o-o-_

_**"Nothing is ever what it seems but everything is exactly what it is."** _

_– The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai across the 8th Dimension_

* * *

"… _others who broke my heart, they were like northern stars. Pointing me on my way into your loving arms…_ " Sophie and Cat crooned on the stage with exaggerated facial expressions and more flat notes than true. Mary winced. Even to her relatively untrained ear, the duo was decidedly close to shattering glass as they warbled the higher notes of the refrain.

Karaoke night was inevitable when stuck in the middle of nowhere with limited entertainment options, drunken karaoke a given with an open bar. The alcohol made it fractionally better, but her retreat to the back of the room as conscientious objector was a done deal. Thank God the keg was freshly tapped and the number of victims satisfied the crowd so that she wasn't pressured to participate. Her objections would become much more…less conscientious…at that point.

It was a needed break from social interaction, her mind having relentlessly gnawed on the events between her and Marshall that morning in the corral, and the rest of the day had been muted under the weight of those few moments. His admission of want, her admission of conclusion…Mary shook her head to again chase away the self rebuke, and she tried to focus on the darkened room around her. The evening was well underway and she needed to be mentally present, especially with her partner absent. They would have time to discuss this, unfortunately, after this op was over. The wranglers had the night off and Marshall had his plans.

Her vantage point was momentarily advantageous. Rocking her chair back on two legs, Mary propped her booted feet onto the piano bench left oddly abandoned near the far wall and deftly adjusted the lapels of her jean jacket to align the button cam with the crowd gathered around the "stage". Singers stood atop a partially dissembled garden trailer resting on cement blocks, lighted from above by a slowly rotating disco ball that had seen better days. A low budget, cowboy version of American Idol. Despite the no smoking ordinances, a thin layer of cigarette smoke hovered near the ceiling and swirled hypnotically around the mirrored ball. It reminded her of the strip clubs she used to drag Jinx out of during her college years; cheap entertainment.

Using the small switch tucked into the pocket of the jacket, Mary shot still photos of the three men clustered near the corner of the bar near the stage. Carter, Brad and a cowhand whose name eluded her. A man she had seen out at the barn during their initial ride, but couldn't recall seeing since then. Short and broad shouldered, the man took a long draw on his cigarette even as he tapped another out of the pack. Their heads were bowed together in discussion, and the tense posture and furtive glances towards the crowd lit up her radar like a cruise missile party. She was glad to have worn the jacket to the main lodge. In this case, the cell phone camera would be far too conspicuous. She felt slightly vulnerable to their gaze as she sat alone, and when Sheryl approached with a tray of longnecks, Mary waved her over eagerly.

"So, they're using you for waitress duty when there's nothing to vacuum?" Mary asked with a teasing grin.

Sheryl rolled her eyes with a shrug as she swapped out Mary's empty. "Not even my night to work, but the extra cash…you know?" She took a swig out of one of the bottles on the tray with a twist tie around the neck, obviously marked for her own consumption.

The woman rested the tray against her hip and tilted her head as she regarded Mary, waiting for the applause to die down for the latest victims of misplaced talent. "Not willing to give the stage a try? Usually we get just about everyone up there at least once."

Mary grinned ruefully. "I think riding a horse once a day is punishment enough while I'm here, don't you?"

Sheryl laughed hoarsely, the sound forced, as if it had been a long time since she practiced. "You're one of those people I just don't get. Subjecting yourself to doing something that you obviously don't enjoy. And paying for it." She was shaking her head now, pondering.

Mary toasted her with her bottle. " _You're_  the one working on your night off."

Something like embarrassed fear flashed in Sheryl's eyes, and she glanced towards Brad before recovering with a snort. "Touchè. Anyways, Brad's always grousing that we're shorthanded and family should help out. I get tired of hearing it. Sometimes it's just easier to give in." Mary suspected there was a much deeper weariness involved beyond a picked up shift. Sheryl continued with a heavy sigh, "He also says Leanne is old enough to help out. I don't know. She's only ten."

Mary played it cool. "Hey, I was working at the corner grocery when I was ten. Actually liked it. It gave me something to do other than watch the grass grow through the cracks in the sidewalk. Kept me out of trouble."

Shrugging one shoulder, Sheryl chewed on her bottom lip as she cast a nervous glance at Brad again. "Yeah, maybe. Who knows, maybe we'll move on to better things…" she trailed off as the next song started up and a member of the crowd waved her over. Smiling a goodbye at Mary, she moved on.

Mary had been there. Been standing in that metaphorical mud puddle at the far end of the dead-end lane. Stuck. Not able to make a plan beyond preventing yourself from sinking deeper into the muck. It was what her witnesses inevitably experienced during those stressful months between accepting the invitation to join oblivion and stepping through the looking glass to the other side. A holding pattern that encompassed their everyday existence, and waiting for the wrong person to say, 'you're not fooling anyone, you know.' She always gave a silent salute to those who could hold it together during that time; knew what it was like to live in that trash compactor of anxiety.

Her attention was suddenly caught by a flurry of motion near the end of the bar. Carter was talking on his phone and gesturing wildly while Brad tried to calm him and herd him into the kitchen. The third man silently slipped out of the room. For some reason, her stomach turned sour as she stared at the damped oscillations of the swinging door the pair of men had vanished through. Something was happening.

Confident no one else had picked up on any unrest, Mary vacated her seat to visit the restroom with the purpose of passing by the kitchen. Her first pass revealed the two men speaking heatedly just inside the swinging door, their words masked by the throbbing beat of yet another lame country song being belted out by inebriated women. Mary returned a few minutes later, slowly approached the kitchen, then jumped back and turned towards the crowd as though watching the show as Sheryl burst through the door. The woman looked spooked; eyes wide and unfocused with one hand rubbing her forehead as she stood behind the bar gripping the sink.

Waiting until the tune was done, the marshal approached the bar apparently looking for a refill. "Sheryl, can I…hey. Is something wrong?" The woman seemed not to notice her for a moment. Finally, she turned towards Mary.

"Just, um, just some trouble in town. It's a small town, you know? Not usually much trouble." Sheryl reached over to take Mary's beer. Hefted the half filled bottle with a shaking hand and raised eyebrow. "You're still full here."

"Just need water," Mary stated. Watching for a moment more as she tried to quell her own nervousness. She needed more information. Something had rattled her witness' cage. "Kids tagging cars? Gas station hold up?" She leaned on the bar as Sheryl slid a glass of water over.

"There was a shooting at a motel. They're saying someone was killed. It's just…" The song ended and the "DJ" called a break while he flipped on the lights. There was a surge of humanity towards the bar and restrooms, and Sheryl was drawn into the requests being called to her. Mary barely noticed. The activity in the room had faded to a droning buzz while she stood motionless, staring at the spot Sheryl had vacated.

… _shooting at a motel…someone was killed…_ The words rattled around in her head like an out of control pinball; producing a throbbing beat that she recognized as her pulse. Pounding.  _Marshall_. Marshall had planned to go to the motel. Before his errands…after his errands…she couldn't remember, and there was no reason to believe their motel was the location of the shooting, but the emotional grave of past panic was too shallow to keep those feelings from bubbling to the surface. She realized Diane and the girls had joined her at the bar and knew she had to get out of there. Regroup and gather information. Recover some semblance of sanity.

Mary fumbled the phone twice as she dug it out of her pocket. Made her excuses to inquisitive cabin mates that she was exhausted and hit the speed dial as she wound her way to the door, uncaring if she was abrupt. The night air carried a chill that quickly seeped into her bones as the call went immediately to voice mail. She took a breath to leave a message when the phone bleeped 'no signal.'

"Godfuckingdammit," she hissed a curse, slapping the phone against her jeans in frustration.

She was dialing again even as she strode towards the parking lot, trying to remember if a large open space was better for reception. "You better not be dead, asshole. I swear I'll shoot you myself." The second attempt at communication had the same results and she changed tactics. Felt queasy. She looked around and decided to just head back to the cabin as reception had been relatively reliable in that direction.

Mary watched the signal icon on the phone offer fleeting promises of bars as she walked, refusing to give in to the temptation to dial. She would wait. She needed to think this through like the trained professional she was. She needed to think like Marshall. The low groan forced from her throat went unnoticed as she began the mental exercises of threat assessment that were nearly second nature. _If_  the shooting in town had something to do with this case, how likely was it that Sheryl's position was compromised…that the marshal's operation was compromised? That her partner was dead? "Stop it!" she hissed to herself, walking faster. The reaction of Carter and Brad to the phone call at the same time Sheryl had heard about the shooting couldn't be ignored. Mary muttered more curses as the likelihood of escalation clamored more loudly for attention.

Reaching her cabin, she ducked through the door and closed it firmly behind her, shutting out the world and all its pursuing demons for a moment while she cleared her head. Leaning back against the rough wood, Mary lightly tapped her head on the hard surface to the rhythm of her mental countdown. Some relaxation technique that Marshall had taught her long ago that actually stuck. At zero she opened her eyes and took a deep breath. "All right, Shannon, you need some intel and you need a plan."

She struck out on the first with three phone calls; Stan, Marshall and Taliswell. The reception was fine, but all three attempts at contact went directly to voicemail, and her final swing at the Albuquerque office was routed to the switchboard. The nausea returned, and Mary stood in the middle of the room with her hand pressed to her mouth as she tried to stare through the wall. Those stats classes came back to her now. Calculations of permutations of bad scenarios that prevented her from reaching her entire team.

 _Sheryl_. It was time to go. If all was well, then she would take full responsibility for the early extraction, but she saw no other acceptable action if this operation was in the process of being flushed. She  _could_ take the time to attempt covert surveillance of Brad and Carter, but she needed to make sure Sheryl was tucked away first. At least get her somewhere where the duo couldn't find her.

Mary had warned Marshall that she was going to play this one by her gut. Tears pricked her eyes as she began to pack her small bag.  _That moron better still be around to back me on this_.

/\/\/\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\/\/\

Sheryl refilled, mixed and poured drinks numbly, her mind focused on the short radio news story that now infused her with dread. The cowgirl chatter around her was as relevant as the static the old kitchen radio usually spewed, and she just tried to get through this break in activities so she could pass her apron to another staff member and get out of the lodge. She had to check on the kids; had to get back to her apartment in order to make sure their little corner of the world was still safe.

Doubt coated her anxiety. She wasn't truly sure the shooting in town had anything to do with her precarious situation or the operation that was being put into place, but the reactions of Brad and Carter were just too strange to ignore. They had almost tumbled into the kitchen just as she was listening to the end of the news report, Carter talking low and fast to someone on his phone while Brad began to pace. Neither noticed her standing by the walk-in freezer, and Sheryl took the opportunity of invisibility to slip around the corner; out of sight but still within earshot. The conversation that she had overheard was too damning.

" _I thought this was supposed to be quick and quiet," hissed Brad. She could still hear Carter muttering a few words into his phone. "Who the fuck screwed up?"_

_Carter's voice overrode Brad's, "Parker said it was shut down tight before he could even get there. He doesn't have any damn details, and…" he sighed heavily._

" _And, what?" Brad demanded._

" _He was told to go home and stay there. Not to leave his house. Says he thinks he's being watched." Carter was nearly spitting the words. "You just had to put your fingers into this fucking pie, didn't you? Parker will roll over quicker than his girlfriend if the feds put the screws to him."_

_One of the men slammed their fist into the wall. There was a brief period of silence, and Sheryl began to creep towards the far end of the kitchen to avoid detection should they move past the doorway._

" _Take Alvarez out to Parker's later tonight," Brad said. "Social visit."_

" _Jesus, Brad…" Carter whispered._

" _Shut the fuck up and do it. We might have company coming and I've got enough cleaning up to do around here. Don't come back if you can't do your part." Brad pushed back through the swinging doors as Carter cursed some more, and Sheryl bolted into the employee's restroom_.

She just couldn't shake the sinking sensation that she was part of the clean up Brad was talking about. Knew he was just itching for an excuse to eliminate her and the kids from any equation that wouldn't add up to the payoff he expected. Whatever had happened in town, and whoever was involved, was clearly outside his plan and he was now spooked.

Again she debated calling the marshal. Again she mentally reviewed all interactions between her and the guests during the week for any clue as to who it was. There were a few of the women who could conceivably fit the bill, but she just wasn't sure and she certainly didn't want to take a chance of showing her hand. Not now. Not when she was so goddamn close. No…not yet. First, she needed to get home to check on the kids and make sure they were all ready to go at a moment's notice. If the fiasco in town endangered her, she had to have faith that the marshals would know…and they would get her out.

Finally free of the lodge after a torturous hour, Sheryl jogged home with her heart pounding harder than it should've been for the easy run. There were no outward signs of trouble, and the living room light was on as she expected. Maggie would be watching her stories that Sheryl DVR'd for her. Standing under the porch light, she wiped her face and straightened her shoulders while slowing her breathing. She didn't want to spook Maggie.

The older woman was surprised to see her, worry lines appearing on her brow as she took in Sheryl's flushed and slightly breathless state.

"What in heavens is wrong, dear?" she asked, muting the television.

Sheryl cleared her throat with a smile, "Nothing wrong, Maggie. Just feeling a bit under the weather and needed to come home a little early. Thought I'd use the rest of my night off to actually rest."

The nanny needed a few more minutes of convincing, but she eventually relented, checked on the children and ambled out to her ancient car to head home. Sheryl waved with a forced grin then shut the door before the soft sobs could overtake her. Stress and anxiety that had built up for hours forcing their way out through hot tears of semi-relief. It was quiet, and it was normal, but she still couldn't stop shaking. Finally making her way to the kitchen, she stood over the sink with a glass of ice water and stared at the pale sage backsplash with a realization; what the hell was she going to do if they did come for her? How could she fight them? How could she save the children?

The ice rattled against the glass as she set it down on the counter while turning scenarios over in her mind, losing every time. She needed some back-up that didn't have a badge. Someone in her corner just in case all hell broke loose before the cavalry could arrive. Heaving a resigned sigh, Sheryl pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialed before she could lose her nerve. It went right to voice mail.

"Hi, this is Eliot. I can't take your call right now…"

She stared at the phone in frustration, then hung up before the message finished. "Dammit!" The man picked a fine time to be unavailable. Where the hell was he? Moving back into the living room to shut down the TV and lights, Sheryl considered calling back to leave a message. But what would she say? What request or plea would sound anything other than slightly panicked and certainly off the tracks?

The sure of sense of urgency from earlier was beginning to wane with the continued normalcy of the evening, and by the time she reached her bedroom she had made a new decision: tonight was not the time to lay her trust in the lap of a man who should not bear that responsibility. Maybe she would talk to him tomorrow.


	13. Faith Evans

**_"A man like Ringo has got a great big hole, right in the middle of him. He can never kill enough, or steal enough, or inflict enough pain to ever fill it."_ **

**_"What does he need?"_ **

**_"Revenge."_ **

**_"For what?"_ **

**_"Bein' born."_ **

_\- Tombstone_

_-o-o-_

**_"How the hell did we get ourselves into this?"_ **

_\- Tombstone_

* * *

The state police had set up a large perimeter, and nearly the entire parking lot of the motel was cleared of anyone but CSI and a mix of local and state law enforcement. If one looked carefully, with a trained eye, they could pick out the feds; likely a marshal or DHS agent. No FBI. Despite their best efforts to blend in, that personnel never quite pulled it off. The squawk and chatter of at least a dozen radio channels added a soundtrack to the psychedelic patterns of light and shadow cast by the patrol car light bars and ambulance strobes. A blue and red tableau of grim determination to solve the crime, and the man tucked into shadow near the motel office enjoyed the quiet anonymity. He was pleased. Wending his way through the civilian onlookers a short time ago, he heard no rumor or speculation beyond gang activity or random violence befalling a tourist. Small town thoughts remaining within their borders.

The traffic to and from the motel room had increased once the victims were removed; one shrouded for celestial departure while the other was swarmed by men intent on tethering the soul to the stretcher. They were closing the doors to the ambulance now, the 'whoop' of the siren clearing a path into the street as the vehicle edged forward. After watching a minute more to assure himself no one was removing equipment from the room, Marshall reached into his pocket for his phone. He dialed as he walked through the overgrown back lot to the truck.

"I assume you have a hell of a good reason for ignoring my first two calls?" Stan barked without preamble. "I'm too old kick your ass, which pisses me off more and just about guarantees I'll shoot you."

Marshall grimaced. "Sorry about that. I was maintaining a low profile for some surveillance. The local constabulary is to be avoided." He climbed into the cab and again checked for any activity before coaxing the rusty truck to life and pulling into the dark street. "I'm going to scope out the activity at the hospital before heading back to the ranch. See if anyone of interest is snooping around."

"Keep your head down. You're not exactly inconspicuous," Stan advised. Marshall heard the squeak of the office chair as the man rocked backwards. "I've got Charlie crawling up the ass of DHS now, but I doubt we'll know what went down until Taliswell's supervisor deigns to call me."

"Who?" Marshall demanded, intent on the street signs as he wound his way through town via back roads.

"One Derek Platte. That's all I have." Stan blew out a frustrated sigh. "They said he'd reach out by the top of the hour, so we wait." A beat. "How'd he look?"

Marshall pulled into the lot of a local supermarket across from the hospital and parked facing the ER entrance. The ambulance sat, dark and silent, under the covered bay. His mind fleetingly revisited chasing a bloody stretcher down a long corridor, and he closed his eyes to force the chilling scene back into the past.

"It looked bad. They called Lifeflight, so I doubt he'll be here long. Just enough time to stabilize him before they can take him to UNM." Albuquerque had the nearest Level I trauma center.

"Dammit," Stan whispered. The men sat silently for a moment. "You hear anything as to the shooter?"

Marshall shook his head even though Stan couldn't see him. "Nothing. But the state police will have his picture in their system now. IA can retrieve it."

Stan chuckled. "You think I'm not already on that? Stop sniffing around my job and get your ass back out of town as soon as possible. Oh, and Marshall?"

Marshall grunted into the phone as he climbed out of the truck. "Yeah?"

"Call your partner. We don't need WWIII at the ranch if she gets wind of this while you're gone."

Marshall missed a step. He hadn't thought of that. His brain was still gnawing on the fact that had he arrived at the motel twenty minutes earlier, they'd be loading  _him_  into that bird on the helipad right now. Stan was right, he needed to put it into gear and do what he needed to do, including reaching out to Mary. Despite the remoteness of the ranch, it was still a small town. An event of this magnitude would incite a flurry of gossip and a phone tree of Sequoia proportions. He couldn't wait too much longer.

"As soon as I'm out of the hospital," he said, checking his watch. "Call me when you have more."

He tucked the phone back into his pocket and walked casually into the waiting room of the ER. Seeking out the vending machines, Marshall bought a soda and plopped down onto one of the vinyl chairs with a sigh and a slouch. Just another friend or family member waiting for word about their loved one. He knew the nurses would remain mum on the condition of a patient, especially a high profile one, so he waited.

He saw no suspicious characters lurking about, but patience paid off within twenty minutes. A pair of troopers ambled out of the treatment area in search of refreshments, deep in conversation.

"…think he's gonna make it. He was lucky the perp was using shorts." The first trooper smoothed out his dollar before inserting it into the machine.

"I've never seen that. Heard of it, but never seen it." The second man waited and counted change from his pocket. His radio squawked and he keyed it silent. "What the hell is a pro doing in this shit town?"

"Holbrook has the case. We'll just have to see if they throw us some scraps. But a bit of advice," the older man waited until the other retrieved his drink, "don't ask too many questions when a fed takes a bullet."

Marshall feigned restless sleep as they passed him on their way back, mind turning over the information unwittingly imparted. A pro. They had been made. But who was the target? Taliswell, or himself? It was a question better pondered far from bright lights and chances of recognition. Hearing the helicopter arrive, Marshall vacated his post and wandered back into the night before the activity behind the 'authorized personnel only' signs could spill out with the transfer.

He was hitting speed dial before he realized the phone was in his hand. Her voicemail was not what he wanted to hear. Cursing the lack of cell towers and cheap government phones, Marshall dialed again only to be interrupted by the signal of an incoming call. Stan.

"That was quick," he answered.

"We got an ID on the shooter," Stan's voice was grim. "This wasn't his first rodeo, and ICE better be prepared to tell us a damn good story."

Marshall trotted back across the road towards his truck. "I overheard a couple of troopers say it was a pro. Using .22 shorts, apparently. A signature style? Aversion to silencers?"

"No one traces .22 short ammo sales, but you're going to leave a trail if you're buying silencers," Stan added his hypothesis. "Our man is Duro Baljic, somewhere between thirty-four and thirty-six years old. Last known address was Serbia in 2007. Over 250 confirmed kills."

Back in the truck, Marshall leaned back against the seat in the darkness and blew out a long breath. "A Serb? That doesn't even make sense to  _me_ , and I'd like to think I've wrapped my brain around this op fairly well." He rubbed a hand down his face and started to feel a little anxious about getting back to Mary. "We're missing some crucial pieces of information, Chief."

"My thoughts exactly…hold on…" Stan's desk phone was ringing. Marshall heard him answer, then he was back on the line. "Marshall, it's Platte. I'm putting you both on speaker." A few clicks and shuffles later and the crude conference call was under way.

The men traded greetings, the marshals expressing their condolences for Taliswell's condition, then Platte launched into a quick update regarding leadership changes within the operation. There would be no delay in the schedule.

"Agent Hardisen has already been out to the target barn to plant some surveillance equipment. He's fully prepared to take lead." Platte said.

"The electrician." Marshall didn't let his mind wander past seeing the man leave with Eliot; dangerous ground beyond that. "Well played. I wouldn't have guessed."

Stan interrupted before his inspector could ponder the ruse further. "So, Agent Platte, I guess our burning question is: What the hell are you boys squeezing that popped out a Serb? And when were we going to know about it?" He only let the question hang in the air for a moment. "There's a difference between throwing my marshals into the middle of the OK Corral versus doing the tango with members of a wet team wanted in two countries for war crimes."

"Baljic was a surprise to us, too." Platte sounded tired. "With as much trouble as we've been giving the cartel down south, I didn't expect to see sicarios up here."

"Let's pretend we don't know anything about the cartel's involvement," Marshall drawled, irritation creeping up the back of his neck slightly faster than the chill of apprehension, "and you crack open a file and start filling us in. Otherwise, I can call my partner and have your witness packed in about a half hour. In the wind by midnight." He grimaced with the delivery, hoping his boss was going to back him up. Though the likelihood of two assassins was slim, he couldn't shake the image of a laser beam dancing on Mary's back.

Pratte bristled. "The details of the cartel involvement are agency only. There are players we prefer not to toss into the lion's den, and its operations have no bearing on our source…your witness."

"We don't want the names of your undercovers," Stan sighed, hoping to stave off an argument. "But there is a good chance  _my_  inspector was the target tonight. He was headed to the motel when Taliswell was taken down, and from the reports I've read, Baljic was waiting. We're  _involved_  now, Platte, not just spectators. If I need to get the ADA on the phone to Assistant Secretary Morton…"

"You understand this operation is probably our last shot at these fuckwits before they hole back up in Mexico, right, McQueen?" the agent was angry. "We've lost too many agents to the crap going on down there."

Marshall listened to his own pulse during the ensuing silence. Stan was giving Platte time to decide…or rather, time to convince himself he was doing the right thing. It had now been forty minutes since he had arrived on the scene at the motel. If Mary had found out, and hadn't heard from him, she'd be making decisions now. He knew what she would do. Just as he thought he'd have to beg off the call, Platte spoke.

"Christianson has gotten himself into bed with two brothers; Luis and Jaime Sancristo, usually known as the Garcia brothers. 'Garcia' was their mother's maiden name." Marshall heard Stan hiss a curse. Platte continued, "Luis, Lucho as he's called, is the elder and more dangerous of the two. He's not too far down the food chain in the Beltrán-Leyva Cartel, and therefore controls a good portion of the trafficking operations in these parts. In fact, after we arrested Villarreal last fall and capped a few of his lieutenants, Lucho is near top dog."

"Okay," Marshall interrupted, turning over the facts in his head. "The cartel, especially that high up, isn't known for dealing with small town losers like Christianson. Nor do they often dabble in local human trafficking rings. What are we missing?" He needed the big picture. Could fill himself in on the details later.

Platte answered, "Christianson is a pawn, he just doesn't know it. As you probably know, the Beltrán-Leyva Cartel has been infighting since 2009. Long story short, Villarreal was the leader of the Los Negros, an enforcer gang within the Leyva that battled for dominance of this region. I'm sure you've read about the beheadings? That was him. Their opposition is the Los Zetas. Well, Garcia is trying to make inroads into the Zetas…get behind enemy lines. And he's found a way.

"Brad Christianson thinks he's trading sex slaves for heroin and some crates full of small arms. He's actually dipping himself in honey and strapping himself to the termite mound. The whole exchange is just a drop off point for Garcia's offering to his inside man in the Zetas. No, you won't get that name."

Marshall's eyebrows climbed upwards. "There's a Zeta at the ranch?"

"I didn't say that," Platte cautioned. "What I did say is that Christianson is the mechanism by which Garcia will deliver proof of good faith. Once the shipment is received, Brad is no longer needed, and the portal into the Zetas will be established. We need to get that shipment, the recipients, and Brad Christianson before anyone is eliminated, and the buy on Sunday night is our only chance."

"And our witness plays into this how?" Stan thought he knew, but wanted to hear it voiced.

Platted yawned, excused himself. "Sorry. It's been a long day." He cleared his throat. "Our Zeta isn't going to roll over on Garcia no matter which way we play it. Christianson, if he's smart, will keep his mouth shut also, but Mrs. Christianson is another story. She's seen the currency, she's overheard the conversations, and she's going to force Brad's hand. He's made. If he doesn't give us Garcia, we'll put him in general population."

"And he'll be dead in a week," Marshall concluded. "If he sings, you'll make sure he's got a nice, quiet place to get a law degree during his first twenty years. Right?"

"And that, gentlemen, is as much as I'll be cleared to tell you." Platte's voice faded as he moved away from the phone. "I'm being called back out. I will keep you apprised of our agent's condition. I trust that this information doesn't change our original agreement?"

Stan was quick to clarify. "We'll take all the information into consideration and confirm with the ADA that our services are still offered, to both you and Mrs. Christianson. I need to update my marshal at the ranch first. She's not going to be…amused."

Marshall snorted. "About that, Stan. I need to call said marshal." He sat forward and turned the key in the ignition. "Agent Platte, thank you for the education. Good night." Hanging up, Marshall belted in and thought about the call he needed to place to Mary. There was no way he would be able to fully update her via the phone, and he doubted they would be able to meet discreetly tonight. There was too much going on, and too many wary eyes could be watching.

Easing the truck into gear, he noted the missed call when he keyed the phone. "Dammit." She must have called while he was on the conference with Stan. He hadn't heard the quiet beep. She was going to be livid. Flay him alive livid. And panicked. Not outwardly, nothing that would defy training or veer her off course, but a visceral reaction to uncertainty they had both experienced before.

He allowed himself the brief pleasure of remembering how she had felt under his hands that afternoon. Remembered the hint of uncertainly in her eyes when she had told him it was time to stop thinking. Scared. Of rejection…of acceptance…of letting someone in who could destroy her. If that's where they were going, if this partnership was going to become something more, then that part of her heart she had protected for so long would be set in his hands. Treasure. He already thought of her as his, and were he on the other end of that phone…Shaking his head in pained frustration, Marshall dialed the number.

 


	14. John Perry

_**"Now remember, when things look bad and it looks like you're not gonna make it, then you gotta get mean. I mean plumb, mad-dog mean. 'Cause if you lose your head and you give up then you neither live nor win. That's just the way it is."** _

_**-** The Outlaw Josey Wales_

_**-o-o-** _

_**"I don't like the way you make conversation."** _

_**–** True Grit_

* * *

Mary packed everything that could easily travel into her small, overnight bag. The larger duffel would remain, along with any items she didn't need for the next twenty-four hours. You traveled light when there was a breach; gun on your hip, badge on your belt, and enough underwear to keep your partner from leaving you on the side of the highway. She was especially aware of material constraints this time, considering she had to extract not only her witness, but two children as well. Likely to be noisy and relatively uncooperative. Children were easy to maneuver when they were scared, but if not immediately under threat, they would dig in their heels. She hoped their mother would keep them on a short leash.

A final look around the room, and Mary was satisfied that nothing looked out of place. She needed Diane unsuspicious until she didn't show up in the morning. Checking her cell one last time before leaving, Mary growled in frustration as there were no bars showing yet again. She squeezed her eyes shut and sent out a mental plea to her partner,  _Please be all right, numbnuts_. Setting hesitation and second guessing aside, she slipped out of the room to jog across the open common grounds and into the small grove of bushes and trees that separated the maintenance areas of the ranch from the guest houses and barns. There was no time to dwell on the taste of bile in her throat as the chill of the evening wrapped itself around her head and hands, she had a job to do. A job that Marshall would expect her to do. A job he would commend her for as he lie in traction, recovering from the severe beating she would rain down upon him if he was still alive.

A few guests staggered out of the main lodge, singing loudly to the latest karaoke offering as they headed back to their cabins. The party was slowly breaking up with the hour, but Mary doubted the staff would be heading back home for quite a while yet. That gave her plenty of time to stake out Sheryl's house before the woman arrived home, be comfortable with the surroundings and aware of any other watchful eyes lurking about.

"Right," she huffed to herself. "And who the fuck am I supposed to call if the big bad wolf shows up? Little Red Riding Hood?"

Frustration boiled up with dread floating on top. She rubbed her hands over her face and took a few deep breaths. It wasn't time to fall apart. And there was no indication there was even a  _reason_  to fall apart. Communications were sketchy out here, and she had no idea as to what damage control Marshall and Stan were dealing with. She was still too close to ground zero to stick her head out and look around, and needed to remain hunkered down and focused.

Finally assured that traffic between her vantage point and the employee residences was nil, Mary began to slowly and carefully weave through the maintenance and power sheds with sights on a rear approach to the cluster of apartments in the distance. The moon hadn't risen yet, she had her hat jammed down tightly on her head, and she was fairly certain she'd make her destination without discovery. Sheryl's nanny would be there, and Mary planned on using the old woman's car for their escape. Just had to figure out a way to convince the woman to keep quiet about it.

Just as she was going to leave the shadows of the last structure for the open field, her cell phone vibrated in her pocket. Back against the wall, she pulled it out to stare at the screen. Marshall. Relief had her thumbing the answer button right before wariness kicked in. If Marshall had been compromised, anyone could be using his phone.

"Hello?" Giving up nothing.

"Stand down, Cowgirl. We don't think our witness is targeted." The command had an edge to it.

Mary felt like a marionette with its strings suddenly cut. Released from bonds held too tightly for too long. She gripped the phone with one hand while the other stifled the resulting moan as she slid down the wall to squat on the packed dirt. The sound of his voice, and the smell of desert dust and her own sweat triggered memories of whispered vows of friendship and the gut-wrenching uncertainty of seeing another day. Too many things had been left unspoken that night…

"Mary?" He sounded uncertain now, worried.

All the adrenaline that had coursed through her veins for the last hour now metabolized into a growing anger. "So, did you decide to go to dinner and get a lap dance before you thought to call me?" she snarled. "I guess you took full advantage of the town's services before dragging yourself back to the job?"

Marshall sighed. "There were immediate issues that I had to deal with in a very narrow timeframe. And the cell reception out here isn't exactly stellar."

"Shot your wad faster than even  _I_  suspected, did you?" She could barely see straight. "Do you want to guess what I've been doing while you cleaned up your mess? Any idea where I. Am. Right. Now?" Mary punctuated each word through gritted teeth. He said her name again, but she talked over him. "Did it even occur to you that I'm damn good at this fucking job, and that I might need a heads up to keep from raining down all sorts of hell when I hear this goddamn thing has gone sour?"

"Dammit, Mary," Marshall growled in return. "I had to talk to Stan - "

"You called Stan first? Are you fucking kidding me?" She stood swiftly and leaned into the phone, pointedly concentrating on keeping her voice low, the stress causing it to shake. "Stan's not the one standing out here looking at the witness' house, is he? He's not the one putting plans into motion that will let all the air out of Taliswell's tires! I couldn't reach either one of you! You left me hanging in the breeze like an untethered nutsack, you ass." She paced behind the small building, the only physical release for stress and tension as Marshall was out of reach.

"Hey," he forcefully interjected. "Step off for a minute. I needed to know the situation…needed to know the sphere of influence. I knew you'd fly solo, and I was counting it down. I called you when I needed to call you…a necessary delay. You'd have done the same." His rare anger towards her spoke volumes about his own stress level.

He was right, and she could feel the rant coming to an end…feel the pent up anger and fear draining out of her. The pacing slowed, and she finally stopped to stare up at the night sky. She wanted him here…standing right here next to her. Wanted to be able to touch him for tangible assurance.

"I thought we were blown, do you understand that? I thought you were…I thought…" Mary leaned on the shed with one hand and hung her head as the tightness returned to her chest.

"Stop," he said. "Just breathe for a minute and listen, okay? I'm fine. I wasn't even there." He was back to Marshall. Soothing now. "Taliswell took the hit and was airlifted to Albuquerque. It's bad, and I don't know if he's going to make it. It could've been me, Mare, and that threw me into self preservation mode. The scene was already compromised when I got there, I needed some answers, and I didn't need Stan lighting people up because he couldn't reach me."

She sucked air in through her nose. "And what, exactly, did you think  _I_  would do when  _I_ couldn't reach you? You must have seen that I tried to call, Marshall. Some acknowledgement, a courtesy text for chrissake, would've kept me from being  _this close_  to blowing my cover."  _And even closer to losing my mind_ , she added to herself. She stepped away from the wall and walked to each side of the shed, checking the corners and shadows in the vicinity for any signs of life.

They were both quiet for a minute, lost in their own thoughts and a silent acceptance of mutual explanation. She heard him sigh before he finally spoke.

"If I admit culpability in this malfeasance will you cease in your diatribe so I can fill you in before we lose reception and are reduced to smoke signals?" He sounded tired.

Mary pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes as she ducked back behind the shed, for once glad she needed a dictionary to understand him. "I take that to mean you're sorry?" Marshall's grunt confirmed her suspicion. "Fine. So, what happened? I heard there was a fatality, and if it wasn't Taliswell I'm assuming it was the shooter. And since you're bent out of shape more than normal, I'll also assume it wasn't random violence."

Marshall could still hear a slight quaver in her voice, but the strident undertones of fear and anger had finally faded away. He could just envision her standing there, head cocked impatiently with one hand on her hip. Fuming. He wanted to be able to reach out and smooth the frown lines on her forehead with his thumb, cradle her head against his chest while murmuring words of reassurance and let her relax in his arms. Not that she'd likely allow that…

He refocused on the here and now. "The hit was professional, but we don't know who was specifically targeted. For that reason, and since dead assassins don't talk, it's hard to say whether our role in this whole thing has been compromised. But what I can tell you is that we have been kept in the dark about a number of essential players."

Mary stopped him. "Before you dive into the sordid details, Geraldo, just tell me one thing: do I need to get Sheryl out of here?"

"We don't think so, not yet," he replied, wincing as he knew she'd not like the answer. He wasn't disappointed.

"You don't  _think_  so?" she mocked. "Now _there's_ a professional opinion that's going to bite you in the ass if we find her cold, stiff body in the morning."

She was on the move now, he could tell from the change in her breathing as she walked. Despite her derision at his opinion, she trusted it enough to abandon her mission of extraction, likely heading back to her cabin. He suddenly suppressed a shiver of apprehension knowing she was alone, and hurried to fill her in on the latest updates.

"Sheryl is the DHS trump card, it turns out. Her testimony sinks Brad, and he'll cut a deal to stay alive, in the process giving ICE exactly who they want. Despite the seemingly precarious position that puts her in, I don't think the real threat in this whole operation even knows of her existence…yet." Marshall had jumped ahead, the players organized and categorized in his head. "So I'm fairly confident we can keep her in place without jeopardy at this time."

"Wait," Mary sounded irritated. "Brad's not the target? I thought the DEA was hoping to carve that turkey and give thanks to ICE. Even offer some to the FBI." She blew out a loud breath. "Jesus, I just  _know_ this explanation has 'Marshall multimedia extravaganza' written all over it, and I'm sure I'd be bored to tears. You got about five minutes before I hang up, so skip the foreplay."

Marshall turned onto the highway and headed towards the Circle R. Mary's choice of words almost dragged him back to the remembered heat of the day, but he could see the lights of the ranch in the distance and knew he'd have to resume a relaxed persona in about ten minutes. No time to ruminate, or elaborate.

"Brad's involved with the Betrán-Levya Cartel, he just doesn't know it. In fact, he's a very small fish swimming unknowingly in piranha infested waters. And he's going to get eaten. By whom, depends a bit on us…and Sheryl."

"The fuck?" hissed Mary. "The Cartel? Did Stan know about this?"

"No," he replied. "In fact, he and I got the info at the same time. He's far from amused." Marshall paused for a minute as he passed a decrepit pick-up on the highway. "The hit was professional…Serbian. And we know who  _they_  sleep with south of the border. Seems the Hatfields and McCoys have adopted Mexican accents and brought their feud to a little place called Tucumcari. And the Circle R Ranch is supposed to be some sort of neutral ground. A 'you show me yours and I'll show you mine' scenario. Brad's just the smokescreen."

Mary was quiet for a moment, mentally sorting and sifting through data as she walked. He gave her the time she needed, knowing not to underestimate her ability to quickly make pertinent connections and fill in the gaps. There were two brains in this partnership. She didn't disappoint him.

"Brad thinks he's buying into a local drug ring that'll help him funnel his girls to Mexico. But the merchandise being put on the table isn't for him at all, is it? Someone else is going to be at that buy, and once the exchange has been made…" She trailed off and Marshall picked up.

"Brad will no longer be needed."

"But, Brad's not stupid," Mary replied. "He's going to know the deal is bogus as soon as the other team shows up…" She inhaled sharply and finished in a rush, "Unless he doesn't know the other team is the other team. Dammit, Marshall, why do I suddenly feel like there're about a thousand eyes watching me?"

"Relax," he drawled, her nervousness somehow able to reach through the phone lines and tickle the hairs on the back of his neck. "There  _is_  a high probability that the Zetas have a sleeper at the ranch, but we don't know that for sure. If you start jumping at shadows, someone's going to notice."

"I'm not worried about shadows, idiot, I'm worried about the asshats standing in plain sight." She loosed a humorless chuckle. "At this point, I'm not even sure I could narrow down a suspect list."

Marshall slowed as he approached the turn lane for the ranch entrance. "We'll powwow about it tomorrow. And, Mary?" He paused to make sure she was listening. "I'm sorry I scared you."

She said nothing for almost a moment too long before replying in a hushed tone, "Yeah, well…I just couldn't - " Her response was cut off by an exclamation and a curse. He heard another voice speak to her.

"Miss Shepard, didn't mean to nearly bowl you over. Your friends were starting to worry about you." Carter's drawl was easy to recognize, and Marshall suddenly had a lump in his throat. What had the man heard?

Mary chuckled slightly and spoke into the phone. "Hey, Mike, I'm gonna have to let you go. Just ran into a friend here."

Marshall mentally rushed a car traveling the other direction so he could make the turn into the lot. "I can be there in five minutes."

She could hear the sound of the other women's voices drawing near, and Carter didn't look unfriendly. Mary flashed the man a smile and held up a finger indicating her need to finish her conversation. "Nah, that's all right. If you were here we'd just end up playing strip poker…and you'd lose, as always."

Marshall chuckled. "I've seen you play poker, remember?  _Definitely_  deal me in."

There was a velvety undertone to his voice that caused some recently cooled embers to spark to life low in her belly. With Carter watching her, Mary made a point to let her voice slide into its own sultry pace. "You're on, Slim. I'll catch you on the other side."

She hung up and winked at Carter before turning to head towards the approaching women. "All work and no sex makes him a needy boy."

Marshall pulled into the parking lot, parked near the barn and stared over in the direction of the cabins as the engine ticked and cooled. He was sure there would be no problem. Mostly sure. She said there were others in the vicinity.  _It wasn't like she was in a bad neighborhood with no backup, right?_  He viciously chastised the mocking voice in his head, threw open the door and began to haul packages out of the backseat. It was going to be a long night.

His phone chirped a text message as he made his second trip into the barn with supplies. Dumping the objects onto the nearest surface, he stopped to read it.

" _This is a text message. With the girls and perfectly safe. See how this works, numbnuts?"_

Marshall sneered and muttered a sarcastic response under his breath as he shoved the phone back into his pocket, visions of gunfights and sweaty poker games wrestling for dominance in his mind. A very long night, indeed.


	15. John Forsyth

_**I worked every day... very hard... there was a woman who didn't like me. She called me bad names... sometimes she beat me. One day she was calling me these bad names, her face in my face, and I hit her. I was not very big, but she fell down. She fell hard and didn't move. I stood over her with my fist and asked if any other woman wanted to call me bad names...No one bothered me after that day.** _

_– Dances with Wolves_

_-o-o-_

_**I've been standin' on one leg for three damn years waitin' for God to do me a favor... and He ain't listenin'.** _

_\- 3:10 to Yuma_

* * *

Sheryl lay staring at the ceiling, watching the amorphous shadows of the lone juniper outside the window creep and sway along the chipped paint as her thoughts mirrored its jumbled dance. The house was quiet but for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the muted sound of pop music from the radio in the kids' room, but her mind would not rest with the late hour. She sighed and shifted, again searching for a comfortable position for both mind and body, and rolled over onto her stomach to try a new view. Tyler whined and mumbled through a dream in the other room, and she couldn't help but wonder if his recently disturbed slumber reflected the stress she was under.

She almost wished she had never called the feds. Had never set events in motion that now had her in a constant state of anxiety during a wait that had become nearly unbearable. Ignorance  _is_  sometimes bliss. Not knowing salvation slept nearly on her doorstep might be better than the gnawing pain in her gut reminding her of mortality's waiting maw. She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her face into the pillow. No. Even in her usual mindset of letting the world solve its own problems, Sheryl knew all the gods and their sidekicks wouldn't have graced her with another restful night had she turned her back on the sight of those girls in the river.

A branch of the tree tapped at the window and she startled, still wired at high alert since hearing about the shooting in town. Somehow she knew the stakes had risen with the news. Not just for her situation, but for all the people involved. She hadn't seen Brad and Carter since she fled the kitchen, but the light in Brad's office was on even as she went to bed. They were either plotting or planning escape…and she suspected the former. Shivering, she pulled the comforter up to her chin and contemplated crawling into bed with Leanne. Maybe she wouldn't feel as vulnerable there.

The phone vibrated on the nightstand, and she looked over at it suspiciously. It was well past normal conversation hours. Slowly reaching for it, Sheryl momentarily wondered if she'd be sleeping in a different bed tomorrow. A glance at caller ID had her chewing on her bottom lip in brief indecision. She finally answered.

"It's kind of late," she quietly chastised.

"I saw that you had called, and you didn't leave a message." Eliot's voice was low to match her own. "You hate when people call and don't leave a message. Makes you nervous."

Sheryl smiled at his indirect rebuke and scooted up in the bed to rest her back against the headboard, nervousness falling away with the covers at the sound of his voice. "And you always tell me it's because they had nothing important to say."

His chuckle always caused a warmth to spread through her chest, and she had to consciously quell errant wants as she sat in her dark bedroom in a state of emotional upheaval. She had called him in a moment of fear, instinctually seeking a protector from perceived threat to self and family, but the time for rescue had passed.

"You were busy. I didn't want to bother you," she explained, grimacing at the whine she heard in her voice. She reached over to turn on the light.

"I was out of range, actually. Brad had me checking the perimeter fence on the east ridge for some reason." He cleared his throat. "I didn't see that you had called until just a few minutes ago."

The mention of Brad's name had her blurting out the question before she could stop herself. "Did you hear about the shooting?"

"What? No, what shooting? Who got shot?" Eliot's voice rose with worry. "Are you okay?"

Sheryl chewed on a cuticle, her own anxiousness reignited. "Not here. In town. Someone was killed. I was just calling to tell you."

Eliot was silent for a minute. She started to wonder about reception right before he spoke. "Sher, this isn't first time people in town have gunned each other down. I've never seen it warrant your attention before. Certainly not to the point that you'd call me about it. What's going on?"

 _Caught_. She cursed stress and confusion. "Nothing," she snapped. "It's just that Brad and Carter were really worked up about it. Pissed, you know? It's nothing now."

She silently recalled the overheard conversation in the kitchen. Brad hissing in anger,… _I've got enough cleaning up to do around here…_  Her shudder had nothing to do with the thin t-shirt she wore. Eliot's voice snapped her out of her reverie.

"Something's not adding up for me here, darlin'," he drawled. "And when you start trying to pull the wool over my eyes, I worry. I'm coming over."

"No, you're not," she replied, immediately concerned. She threw off the covers and sat on the side of the bed. "We're all in bed and the kids are asleep. There's absolutely no reason for you to come over here, Eliot."  _Except to save me from my self-engineered fate._

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much." His southern fried Shakespeare brought a smile to her lips despite her irritation. He continued before she could voice another protest. "Seriously, Sheryl, you sound…off. It's been an odd night for me too, something in the air smells like a rat, and I'd feel better just knowing you and the kids are safe and sound. No ulterior motives, I promise." Again the sultry chuckle, and she damned the man for the effect he could have on her. "Unless…"

She sighed loudly and purposefully in order to dissuade his train of thought. The last thing she needed right now was to allow Eliot access to her emotions. It would be too easy to let that man step into her life and her heart…too damn easy. There had been a few moments that lingered into minutes between them recently, and she traced her fingers across her lips in remembrance.  _No_ , she decided, gripping a fistful of sheets instead,  _not now_. She needed a clean break.

"We're fine, really," she tried to inject finality into her voice. "Please go home and get some rest. I'll be fine by tomorrow."

"See, the thing is, I'll be there in five minutes, so there's really no point in me turning around to go back home right this minute. Rude of me, actually, not to check in with you when I'm this close," he wheedled.

A thrill of anticipation sparked in her belly, and Sheryl growled in frustration as she stood to grab the sweatshirt hanging on the bedpost. "Didn't your mother ever tell you it's impolite to drop in on a girl unannounced?" She pulled on the shirt and shoved her feet into a pair of tattered slippers before padding down the hallway into the kitchen. "Especially when she's already in bed?"

"I promise I'll knock on the door instead of sneaking in through the bedroom window," he teased. "A concession to appropriate conduct. But, somehow, I don't think I woke you."

"Knock quietly," she replied, and severed the connection with a sigh. Flicking on the light in the kitchen, she contemplated brewing a pot of coffee for about a second before reality set in. This was a social call she didn't want, and she planned on having the man in and out within a very short period of time. Long enough to reassure him she was fine, but not long enough to lay down the welcome mat.

-o-o-

The wind had picked up since he left the Redpoint barn, and now increasing clouds scuttled rapidly across the moon, hinting at a shower before morning. Needed moisture, he knew, but the unsettled weather only served to heighten his uneasiness as he climbed out of the truck and walked to Sheryl's door. He vaguely recalled some line in a novel about the weather being a reflection of the devils in men's souls; demons plucking the stars from the sky as the night deepened and torments neared. He shuddered involuntarily at the thought. Spooked. Shaking off the uncharacteristic dread, Eliot softly knocked.

She opened the door just as he was noting Brad's lack of upkeep; chipped paint on the trim and a ripped screen over one window. It stirred his anger, this blatant neglect, and as Sheryl stood before him he looked her over with the same concern. Rumpled pajama pants and an oversized hoodie, her hair was in a loose braid with some stray tendrils curling over her forehead and ears. She looked tired and slightly irritated, and the spark of challenge in her eye made him grin.

"I certainly hope you weren't expecting sleeping beauty," she said with a raised eyebrow, then studied his attire with the same assessing eye. "It's not like y _ou_  dressed up either."

He looked down at his dusty boots and jeans and chambray shirt sure to sport a few stains and wrinkles. The hat was in the truck, and Eliot unconsciously raised a hand to smooth back his hair. His state of dress reminded him of why he had come here before going home. He met her gaze with his now serious one.

"I was worried."

She looked over his shoulder towards the main lodge, then dropped her eyes to his chest before jerking her chin in the direction of the kitchen to invite him in. Eliot glanced behind him to note Brad's office light still on, set his jaw and stepped into the house. The door was shut on the troubles of the night.

They sat on the couch ten minutes later, Eliot with ice water and Sheryl with a cup of tea. Niceties were exchanged for the time it took to prepare the drinks, and he had watched her hands shake while pouring the hot water. Had seen her furtive glances in his direction and the clenched jaw. She was wound tight, and he doubted it was because of his nocturnal visit.

"So," she sighed, setting her cup on the coffee table and turning towards him slightly. "As you can see, all is well and there's no reason for worry."

He took his time leaning forward to set his sweaty glass on top of some decorating magazine left askew on the table, trying to buy some time in which to think of a way to get through the barricades she had erected. She was ready to dismiss him, and he was loath to leave. They had been dancing around each other for too long, and the panic he felt tonight when she told him about the shooting had only emphasized his need to be with her…be there  _for_  her. Time seemed short for some reason, and he leaned back to rest his hands on his knees before tilting his head to look at her.

"What I see is an anxious woman whose hands are shaking as though it's below zero in here. The same woman who calls me and hangs up earlier in the evening, then claims she just wanted to tell me about a shooting as though it were the latest score from the ballgame." Sheryl had dropped her eyes to her lap and was now twisting one of her rings around her finger. Eliot pushed a little harder. "Something happened this evening to make you nervous…scared, even. Something about that shooting spooked you enough that you called me, and that means you needed me. Needed me for what, though?" He paused as she blew out a long breath and looked up to stare towards the hallway. Plotting escape as he narrowed in on the issue.

"Did you need comfort in a friendly voice? Did you think I might have more information for you? Or…" he waited for her to glance back at him, "did you need protection?"

Her eyes widened for a moment, then she scowled as she made to push herself up off of the couch. "I think it's time for you to go, Eliot."

He reached over to grasp her arm above her elbow as she stood and they were both startled into stillness by her wince and gasp of pain. Their eyes met as they both understood mutual conclusion, and as the wind quietly rattled the loose screen, Eliot gently slid his hand down her arm to tug at the sleeve of her sweatshirt; coaxed her back onto the couch.

"Please tell me that didn't happen tonight, Sher," he said softly, sick with the thought that he hadn't been there when she had called.

She stared at her mug and rolled her lips between her teeth before shaking her head in response. Silent, with hands motionless in her lap as though she was afraid sound and movement would invoke a negative action from him. But this quiet admission of occurrence was more than she had ever said with words.

"Yesterday," she whispered, still staring at the mug. "And it was Carter this time, not Brad."

She took a deep breath and seemed to sink a little more into the couch. Weary. Possibly relieved of some burden. "He only grabbed me. Brad likes to hit." She reached up to stroke the fading bruise on her cheek.

Although he had suspected the abuse for a long while, Eliot was still unprepared for the white hot anger that burned through his soul with her words. A primitive reaction that fueled a crazy desire to rip the door off its hinges and stalk across the fields on a hunt for retribution, war cries howled to the moon. A kind of rage that drove normally sane men to rash action. He squeezed his eyes shut as he willed the anger into the background; not forgotten, but placated with promises of later expression as he needed to remain calm when dealing with the now frightened woman sitting next to him.

He slowly reached out to capture the trembling hand she still held against her cheek and lowered their joined fingers to rest atop his thigh. "How long?" he asked.

Sheryl looked over at their hands, then up at his face with a one shouldered shrug. "Since about four months after Gary disappeared. It's gotten a little worse in the last few months, but that's probably because…" she trailed off with a furrowed brow and stared back down into her lap.

He peered at her. "Because what? What's going on, darlin'? The whole bunch of you have been on edge for the past few weeks, and now this shooting has gotten you worked up even more. Talk to me."

She closed her eyes and swallowed hard before squeezing his hand as she spoke. "I think Gary's dead. Almost sure of it, and I think Brad killed him. I don't know why he did it, but I think he somehow blames me for the whole mess."

It wasn't about the shooting, or the call tonight, but she was talking and he wasn't going to pull her off track. "I'm sorry, Sher. I really am."

She turned and reached out to grip his knee with her free hand, face earnest as she met his gaze. "Do you think he's dead, Eliot?"

Her question carried undertones that caused him to catch his breath. She wasn't just asking for confirmation, but for permission. Permission to release herself from vows to a dead man. He had to give her an honest answer.

Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, Eliot met her chocolate gaze. "I do. You're not the only one who thinks that, and there's more than one story to support your theory."

Surprise became gentle grief in moments, and her lower lip trembled slightly as her eyes became wet. "I knew it," she whispered. "I really am alone."

He cupped her jaw in his hand and rubbed his thumb softly over her high cheekbone, ducking his head slightly to catch her eye again. "You're not alone. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

She looked at him with an odd expression for a moment, almost regret, then leaned forward to brush her lips lightly against his. Once, twice, and then Eliot shifted to pull her closer and captured her lips firmly with his own. A residue of sugar from her tea lingered on her mouth, and he tasted her with a moan; felt her respond in kind and snake her hand up his thigh to his belly…chest. She rested her weight into his embrace and he felt her soften…felt himself harden in response. He slid his hand down her back to grip her ass and smoothly repositioned them both so that he reclined against the cushions with her lying on top of him, her warmth spread across his chest and thighs making his clothes seem too tight. Her pajama bottoms allowed him to feel every curve of her thighs, and he reluctantly returned his hands to her back to resist further temptation.

Sheryl hummed in pleasure as Eliot's rock hard body pillowed her own, reflexively tilted her pelvis against his with the contact and felt him grip her back in response; controlled, yet not willing to let her go. She could kiss him for hours. He tasted like spearmint, freedom, and other things that made her think of porch swings under the stars on a sultry, Southern night. Boldly, she ran her tongue along his bottom lip only to gasp in surprise as he gently sucked it into his mouth and deepened the kiss until she had to bury her hands in his hair and just hold on.  _Ah, gods_ …It had been too long since she had taken pleasure in a man, and she could lose herself in this one.

 _Lose herself_.

Reality returned with ill-timed clarity, and she pulled her head back to gently break the kiss, Eliot's head coming off the pillow to follow hers until their lips broke contact, and Sheryl placed her hands on his chest to prevent him from pulling her back down. He was flushed and beautiful, hair mussed upon the couch pillows and a half lidded gaze full of desire tempting her to throw caution to the wind. Instead, she pushed up further until she straddled his thighs and stared silently down at him. This was a man who would come to her rescue, would offer her pleasure and possibly something more…this man she would never see again in three days. She closed her eyes with the unexpected pain, briefly nauseous with loss.

"You okay?" he murmured, still gripping her waist. "Did I hurt you?"

She shook her head and attempted a small smile as she gazed down at him. "No." Slowly extricating herself from his embrace, she knelt next to the couch and idly stroked his chest. "I just need to stop…as much as I don't want to." She needed him to know that. "The kids are just down the hall, and it's a small house…" The excuse sounded lame, but he seemed to understand and smiled a crooked grin of his own as he reached out to gently stroke her hair, played with the end of her braid.

"What kind of honorable cowboy would I be if I awakened the young 'uns while I ravished you?" he teased.

Sheryl chuckled and stood, helping Eliot into a sitting position. He was holding her wrist now, seemingly reluctant to break contact in any way. Eyed her thoughtfully.

"You want me to stay?" His question carried more hopefulness than he probably realized.

She weighed the solid feeling of safety against the looming loneliness. Was a night of anxiety-free sleep worth having to let him go again in the morning?

"Mommy?" the thin, quavering voice carried down the hall. Tyler.

Eliot glanced towards the hall, then back at her with raised eyebrows. She relented. "Do you mind? You're welcome to the shower, of course, and I'll get you some sheets for the couch."

He stood and caught her up in an embrace with a swift and firm kiss. "Much obliged," he whispered in her ear. A wink, and he was moving down the hallway before she had time to react. A faint murmur of voices from the kids' room filtered out, background to her own tumultuous thoughts.

/\/\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\/\/\

Brad sat in the chair and stared out the window in his office. Ended up only staring at his own reflection once again as the inky darkness beyond revealed no secrets…or answers. He had sent Carter home after the man assured him of Parker's silence in the matter. He didn't want to know the details of the solution, but knowing Alverez's penchant for breaking things, especially living things, he only hoped they had covered their tracks well. Carter wanted to stay in the office until Garcia called, but Brad just couldn't shake the uneasiness that bubbled up with the man's presence. Carter was predatory lately, and Brad had an idea he had his eyes on only one prize; the seat Brad was currently sitting in. Better to keep conversations between the upper echelons of underground activity  _a puertas cerradas_.

His gaze wandered over to the lone cell phone sitting atop the desk. It had come in the mail today, no return address and a postmark impossible to read, but the instructions included were crystal clear. This was now the only phone he would use to call, or be called, by Garcia. The feds were too close again, and they could only assume everything was tapped and traced. He had used a cheap bug detecting device he ordered online to check his office and Carter's work area, fairly confident they were clean, but the feds, if they were anything, were good at what they did. And their fucking geeks were even better.

Reaching for the phone, he spun it lazily as he looked up at the clock. The second hand stuttered forward, each click loud enough to make his eye twitch, and Brad again calculated the time that had lapsed between Garcia's promised call and the actual late hour. Nearly three hours now. A Gordian knot of nervousness and fear curled in his gut. He needed this deal with the devil. Needed this light at the end of the tunnel. If Lúcho got cold feet…Brad let his head fall back onto the chair with a grunted curse and rubbed his palm across his eyes hard enough to see spots. He was up to his hairline in debt, Whitehorse was about two seconds away from discovering his financial maneuverings, and he had a cave full of underage, underfed bitches that would have to be offloaded somehow.

The cell phone buzzed and he nearly jumped out of his skin. He snatched it up and forced himself to count three rings before answering. Game on.

"Lúcho, I believe this is well past the time you suggested." Take the upper hand.

Brad had to hold the phone away from his ear slightly, the Spanglish vitriol nearly scalding him. He caught about a third of Garcia's rant, blame crossed into threats and back around to demands. Waiting the angry man out, Brad held onto his own anger by a mere thread. Finally, Garcia chose English to finish his filibuster, and Brad tuned into the information now being imparted.

"A counterfeit ring?" he asked, puzzled. "That's what the feds released to the press? Why the hell would they only have one agent in town to bust a bunch of paper dolls? Do you believe that?" He peered hard at nothing as Garcia offered his own doubts. Sat forward quickly when the tone of the conversation became more accusatory.

"Do you really think I have a leak, Lúcho?" Brad's voice was mean in return. "I cleared every fucking ranch hand myself. Double checked references, IDs…hell, I even had them all pee in a fucking cup! They're all legit. My employees are clueless and the guests are all too new. I even eliminated a potential source, just to be sure." Standing, he began to pace. "I can send you the file on everyone if you're so goddamned sure the information is coming from  _my_  end. Would you do the same?"

The voice on the other end was loud in response, and Brad gritted his teeth. "Yeah, it's a real fucking shame that you lost your clean up crew. Not my problem, though, is it?" He furrowed his brow. "A token of gratitude on my part? We're playing tit for tat now? Three days, Lúcho, three days. Don't waste my time."

As usual, the man on the other end was better at intimidation, and even though Brad had steeled himself to remain unmoved by any threats, he found himself placating Garcia by the end of the call. Tired of the cold sweat that trickled down his back, an idea began to swirl in the back of his mind that made even his blind morality turn its head away.

"Fine. If it will keep you off my ass," he sighed irritably. "I'll send an extra package with the third truck. Consider it a replacement for the toy you lost on the playground."

Grunted agreements were replaced by the silence of disconnection, and Brad threw the phone across the room, remotely grateful it didn't fall apart. The pack of cigarettes he dug out of the drawer was empty, and he swore emphatically as he yanked open the file cabinet for a new carton, shredded the cardboard in his quest for stress relief. He didn't even bother to open the window when he lit up.

"Goddamn Mexicans."


	16. Melvin Goddard

Mary was pacing again. She remembered someone once telling her, when she first joined the marshals, that she would do more than her fair share of running. And she had. But no one had warned her about the pacing. Wall to wall…hallway to hallway…the animal kingdom's physical display of mental and emotional stress that could even induce unease in the observer. And it didn't even help. Only aggravated the slowly healing blister inside her now dusty boots.

The wind moaned through the pines again, causing her to look up towards the low scuttling clouds and cease her marathon within the shadows behind her cabin. Marshall was supposed to meet her here and he was running late. They had decided an early morning meet up was required to regroup and share more details, both of them too much on edge the night before to think entirely clearly. She zipped up the front of her fleece to guard against the chill wind as the events of the past twenty four hours again ran through her head. Like the change in the weather, the plan of action had morphed quickly and left her with muddled senses and unease.

She hadn't slept well; visions of Cartel assassins, witness security breaches and the feel of her partner's hands low on her belly causing her to toss and turn well into the wee hours. The wind had picked up about the time the birds started to sing, and Mary had given up pretense of sleep for a hot shower.

She had let the steaming water run over her neck and shoulders while her mind tried to sort and arrange emotions that had been scattered like a dropped deck of cards. There was no way to put it all in order, you could only neatly pile the cards and guess which one would be pulled out next. Anger, fear, desire…all dealt to her by long lean fingers attached to a long lean man. Despite her best efforts to focus on the operation, the witness, staying in the saddle…it all kept coming back to Marshall. She found herself wondering why, after months of self reflection when the time was hers, that her mind and body would decide to gang up on her during the middle of this ticking time bomb called a ranch. And what she should do about it. An image of a wall hanging from the main lodge flickered to life behind her closed eyes. Some Native American prayer, and the first few lines had somehow imprinted themselves onto her mind.

_It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing. It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive._

_It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain._

… _I want to know what you ache for… have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain_ …Those two lines stood out the most. What she ached for what was she feared, and Mary didn't know if she had the strength to look the fool. She had told him she was done thinking, and now she either forged ahead or turned tail and ran. The latter being the more comfortable choice and her usual M.O. Another quote percolated up from the depths of stored information, this one from a decidedly non-native source.

" _Allow yourself the possibility of something greater."_

"Thanks, Treena," Mary had muttered, irritated with strumpet philosophy and turning under the spray of the shower. "The one person who takes my advice turns it against me."

Recall, the portent of introspection, snowballed into snapshots of partnership teetering on the brink of something more. One in particular closer to home and full of horse barns and shock as her partner's lips met hers with an intensity she had never expected. The same intensity that had smoldered beneath a tentative touch and careful kiss only days before; both memories redolent of the scent of sweet hay and dampened dust.

She had switched the shower to 'cool' at that point, lifting her face to meet the stream and trying to ignore the imaginary cheerleaders in her head. " _It's now or never_ "…" _step up to the plate_ "…" _grow a pair_ "…

The scuff of a boot on the concrete walk to the cabin startled her out of her reverie, and Mary turned quickly to see Marshall slip around to the back. The echoes of misplaced encouragement refusing to fade completely from her mind.

"Did you hock your watch for that lap dance, Speedy?" she scolded. "I should've been at breakfast ten minutes ago."

Marshall's jaw was set and his eyes showed no flash of humor as he halted in front of her. Her gut tightened with anxiety. "What? What happened?"

He glanced around warily, then sighed as he shoved his hands in his pockets and focused on her. "I just got a text from Stan. Taliswell died at 5:20 this morning. The bullet to his neck did too much damage."

It was like a physical blow, and Mary squeezed her eyes shut and spat, "Fuck!" as she ran one hand through her hair. She let her head fall back and opened her eyes to gaze at the gun colored sky and the birds that speckled its surface. Flat and dull, and even the birds seemed to have no purpose. The wind obliged the mournful mood with a muted dirge within the pines, and she just shook her head slowly as her hand fell back to her side. Marshall continued to stand silently as she processed the news.

Finally, he spoke to draw her attention back to the here and now. "DHS shuffled another HIS man to the forefront; Derek Platte. Stan and I chatted with him some the other night and he seems to have the helm under control. Was quick to bring us up to speed, at least."

He watched her as the shock of the news turned into anger and she glared at the mountains in the distance. The effort of controlling her emotions showed too clearly to him, and he was fascinated by the battle of irritation and grief played out upon her face. She'd voice the former, of course, but he knew the latter would stay with her long after she wound down. Her eyes snapped to his with purpose.

"Please tell me we're still doing this," she growled. "If they think they can yank us out now…"

Marshall held his hands up placatingly. "The plan is unmodified, just changing leadership. There's no reason to believe Brad or the Garcias suspect there's more to the situation than surveillance. I have to give DHS some accolades there, they've no leaks or breaches even this far in. Hard to do."

"None that they know of," she cautioned, crossing her arms and tossing her head to dislodge the hair blown across her face. "Who do they think is the Zeta's man on the inside?

He shrugged. "They're not saying. Dangled the idea that the mole was on the ranch, but Platte got evasive when questioned. Stands to reason they're not going to show all their cards."

"Their man is dead, Marshall. I would think that might loosen a few tongues for self preservation." Mary added a snort of disgust.

He allowed himself a crooked grin. "I wonder how many people have said that about  _us_  over the years, Mare. It would take more than the loss of a comrade to compromise our witnesses."

Toeing the dirt, she contemplated his statement for a moment before grinning back sadly. "Touché." She looked back out through the pines with a sigh and he thought she was mulling over the case. He was wrong.

"What would you have done?" Her voice had dropped in timbre, weighty in seriousness. She cocked her head to see his brow furrowed in question. "If they had killed me when I left you there with Horst. If I hadn't come back."

Marshall's mind tripped and swerved through his partner's circuitous thought process while playing back images of that day. It was still hard to think about, that moment when she walked out that door with a backward glance revealing more than she realized. Fear and apology and the hope that he would still be alive if she came back. To this day, he wasn't 100% sure of his answer.

"What would  _you_  have done?" A question was better than baring his soul.

She turned to look at him fully then and his chest felt tight. "You're more than just a comrade, Marshall. I hope you know that." They stared at each other for a moment, then Mary seemed to shake off the disconcerting cloak of seriousness. Tossed a snark his way.

"The OK Corral would've seemed like a church picnic by the time I was done with them and dragged your sad corpse out of there. Assuming you weren't going to keep bleeding all over me."

"Good to know my death wouldn't affect the pecking order," he drawled reproachfully, returning the emotional situation to safe ground.

"So," Mary began, finally tiring of wind blown hair and pulling it into a ponytail. "I'll assume Stan is chewing a few select asses in order to pin down as much new detail as possible? From what you told me last night, it doesn't sound like Sheryl is in any more danger…unless she makes some bonehead move."

"Doesn't seem to be her style," he interjected. "In fact, it would be out of character for a woman in her position to initiate change in this sort of matter. The abused does not often confront the abuser…even when children are involved. I see her waiting it out."

"Another tidbit you read in 'Abused Women for Dummies'?" There was more than a hint of irritation in her tone.

He opened his mouth to reply when a pair of women's voices approached. It sounded as if they would round the cabin, likely taking a short cut to the riding areas from breakfast. It would seem odd that he and Mary stood in private conversation, and Marshall's first instinct was to protect their cover. He reached forward to pull her to him, turning her towards the cabin wall and crowding her into the shadow. A private conversation would now appear as a covert tryst, fodder for gossip, but nothing suspicious.

She was stiff and wary in his grasp; thankfully silent, but she tested his grip until her eyes fell upon the women now in sight. Like a chameleon, her posture and attitude shifted seamlessly, and she wound her arms around his neck and closed the distance between them with a low whisper.

"You know, if they see us, word will be out by the time you saddle your horse."

Marshall ducked his head, fascinated with the curve of her neck so close to his face. She had a freckle behind her right ear and it beckoned with promises of untried delights. When he spoke, his breath feathered against her ear.

"We should give them something to talk about then." Obviously, his libido had mugged his brain in the last ten seconds. The feel of her soft curves pressed against his body as her fingers played with his hair at his neck was all the opportunity it needed to stage a lustful takeover. Mary sucked in a breath and he stilled.

"Sorry. That was out of line," he murmured, listening to the retreating giggles of the pair of women. He didn't release his hold on Mary just yet.

Mary's mental cheerleaders were back, and they had brought friends. Her initial surprise at his manhandling turned into smoldering desire more quickly than she would've liked.  _What you ache for…Oh, there was definitely an ache_ , she thought. Every inch of her in contact with his lean frame ached, and when he whispered in her ear she felt it down to her toes. Want…need…something greater. His apology irritated her.

"Marshall," she purred, burying her fingers in his hair and tugging gently on his head to bring his eyes up to meet hers. "Shut up."

His lips were cool as she captured them with her own, his hands gripping fistfuls of her jacket in surprise before he stretched his fingers around to span her back, holding her tightly against him. He matched her eagerness, and she found herself pressed back into the wall of the cabin without knowing they had moved.

 _She tasted_ …his brain stuttered as Mary's tongue flicked out to trace his bottom lip before she nipped it and again sealed her mouth over his with a low hum. She tasted like salvation from sleepless nights and too many solitary glasses in the sink. Like a cool breeze on a damp morning reminding you that you were alive. Marshall inhaled her scent as his hands moved to capture more of her, one hand reaching up to wind through her hair and grip the back of her head, the other sliding down to the curve of her ass. Biology and desire now dictating his actions, he slid one leg between hers and pulled her tightly against him, needing to feel her softness.

Mary pulled her head back and gasped at the feel of his hardness pressed into her belly, thigh against thigh while his hand firmly closed around one jean clad curve. She didn't know her body could respond this quickly to a man, especially a man who was her partner. His touch seemed to electrify every nerve and she wanted to feel more of him. Sliding one hand under his jacket, she rucked up the back of his shirt until her palms met skin. Warm skin with solid, shifting muscles beneath it. He jerked in response and tilted her head back with a groan.

"So soft," he murmured against her cheek…her jaw. "You're so soft." His lips trailed over her jawbone and he flicked his tongue out to lick an area behind her ear. Mary's nails dug into his back in reflex and he turned the lick into a suckle.

The sound she made as he tasted the longed for target would forever remain in his dreams. A murmured whimper that drove him to grind his pelvis against hers again while he continued to nip and nibble down the length of her neck. He wanted her to make that sound again.

Her groin ached in need as his lips trailed fire down her neck. She slid her own hand down to grip his hip, hoping to encourage a rhythm pleasing to them both. He lifted her thigh slightly to settle himself more firmly between her legs as he swiftly covered her lips again, and she could feel the heavy blossom of pleasure begin to unfurl deep within her. Moaning, Mary opened her mouth to his kiss and tangled her tongue with his own. She needed more of him…needed to know he was alive.

The next thrust of his hips pressed his own knuckles into the rough wood of the cabin wall, and some demon of rationality began to hammer at his brain until he had to acknowledge it. He had his partner in his arms, wanting and willing and nearly wanton, and he was ready to soil his own jeans himself in just a few minutes. In broad daylight. On an operation. _Jesus_.

Mary felt the change immediately. Felt the ferocity fade from desperate intent to a reluctant withdraw, and she opened her eyes to stare at him as he broke their kiss. The blazing blue gaze still burning with desire, but now rational and deliberating. She ran her fingers through his hair and along his neck down and around to his chest. Settled back against the cabin wall as he straightened and gathered his own limbs back to himself. Wondered what reaction he was expecting.

"You told me you were done thinking," he murmured, stroking her jaw with his fingers and reading her thoughts. "Don't start back up now."

She couldn't help but grin and played with a button on his shirt. "You said we needed to give them a show," she teased.

He had a momentary flash of doubt, but the spark in her eyes gave her away. "Just following your lead…as always. At least this time you didn't expect me to run down a horse."

She pushed him away playfully, smiling as he adjusted his jeans, and rearranged her own jacket. "The day is young, Cowboy."

Marshall squinted up at the sun. "However, aging fast." Returning his gaze to her, he looked her over affectionately before continuing. "Breakfast is a swiftly fading fantasy at this point, so I should head back to at least commandeer some coffee. You should go get something too. You'll need your strength for the barrel races."

She narrowed her eyes. "I'm not barrel racing."

He winked at her as he turned to head back to the barn. "We'll see."

"What the hell are you talking about?" she demanded to his back. He only waved and kept walking.

"I'm  _not_  barrel racing," she repeated to herself, straightening her ponytail as she walked towards the main lodge, unable to resist a last glance at Marshall's retreating form. This whole situation would bother her later, she supposed. Her stomach growled loudly, protesting any other line of thought, and Mary just shook her head as she continued on her way.


	17. Dallas Stoudenmire

_**Stony Brooke: Ve** _ _**ry lovely.** _

_**Evelyn Maxwell: The lady or the music?** _

_**Stony Brooke: You play beautifully, too.** _

_**Evelyn Maxwell: Have you heard, "I'll Kiss You in the Moonlight"?** _

_**Stony Brooke: Is that a song or a promise?** _

_\- Red River Range_

_**It's talk that always gets you into trouble with a woman. They always think you mean more than you say.** _

_\- The Desert Trail_

* * *

By the time the kids nearly finished barrel racing, the whole ranch had gathered along the fences of the largest corral in order to kick off the adult competitions. The day had warmed quickly, the sun breaking through the gloomy, nebulous clouds of the morning, and most had shed jackets, pushed up sleeves and were now applying sunscreen to bits most likely to get crispy. The rodeo was treated as part holiday, part smack-down, and even the kitchen personnel had paused in seemingly perpetual meal preparation to egg on the competitors during the most popular events: calf roping, bronco busting and barrel racing.

The last kid shot across the finish line to the whoops and cheers of the onlookers while their time was announced in a tinny warble over the weak speaker system. Good enough for another round of cheers, but not fast enough to catch the leader: Tyler. High pitched squeals of glee pinpointed his location in the crowd, and Mary turned to watch the boy climb onto the top rail of the fence to swing his hat in the air. She had to chuckle at the fledgling attempt to celebrate "cowboy style," urged on by his friends and the younger ranch hands while his mother stood nearby and grinned proudly.

Mary noticed Sheryl's smile didn't quite disguise the furrowed brow and rigid set of her shoulders. The woman was tense. Wariness as her own reflex, Mary glanced about the crowd for any obvious impetus of distress, but seeing nothing overtly concerning, she brought her attention back to her witness as the woman moved to intercept Tyler as he was walked along the top rail to the post near Mary. She was ready to offer her own congratulations when she was jostled from her other side.

"Now it's going to get good," Sophie said, waggling her eyebrows and pointing past the young cowhands removing the barrels from the arena. "The big boys are going to play."

"Goddamn," exclaimed Diane, stepping up a rail to crane her neck and get a better view. "You just can't beat a man's ass in a pair of chaps to get the juices flowing. Unless you have a riding crop, of course…" she trailed off with a quiet whoop as the objects of her perversions moved into view.

"I'm pretty sure I need a series of shots to room with you," Mary muttered, joining the girls at the fence. The mention of chaps had seriously piqued her interest.

She could catch glimpses of Marshall amongst the other wranglers and mounts milling about outside the ring, the constant movement as the participants readied themselves preventing her from keeping her eye on him for long. The loudspeaker sputtered to life again just as she was trying to figure out what they were getting ready to do.

"Anybody who wants to get in on the calf roping better sign up right now. We're starting in five minutes."

One of the wranglers separated himself from the throngs and wandered towards her side of the ring. Eliot. He waved and winked at the women on his way over to congratulate Tyler. Mary ignored the cat calls and wagering going on around her and watched the man pluck the child from his seated perch on the fence and toss him gently into the air. Tyler squealed with delight. It was too far to hear the words exchanged, but Eliot's attention and praise clearly caused the young boy to swell with pride. Mary could understand why Sheryl now nearly beamed as Eliot passed Tyler back to her. Tyler bounced up and down with his hands out as Eliot reached into his back pocket and produced some sort of prize. After he leaned down to pin it on the boy's shirt, Mary had to hide her own smile. A five pointed star. Fitting…and possibly prophetic by the time this whole fiasco was rubbed down for the night.

She almost missed it as her gaze lingered on the young boy and his tin star. Almost missed the brief exchange of a whisper and touch between two adults that had her eyebrows crawling towards her hat brim. Might have led herself to believe it was imagined on a day where spirits were high and the sun was in her eyes were it not for the fortuitous breeze that flung Tyler's question in her direction.

"Mr. Eliot, are you gonna stay overnight at our house again?"

Out of the mouth of babes spewed harbingers of doom, and Mary had to forcibly drag her eyes away from the trio as she tried not to show her shock.  _Are you shitting me?_  She squeezed her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose while leaning against the fence post and trying not to think of all the ways this little development was a bad thing. Epic bad. Didn't even bother trying to imagine anyway it could be a good thing. Would've been easier to start believing in the Tooth Fairy.

Her mind raced with scenarios: Sheryl telling Eliot about Brad's operation, Sheryl telling Eliot about the fed's operation, Eliot telling someone else about the operation…Eliot already knowing about the operation. The last one had her eyes flying open to glare at the man from underneath her brows. The laughing man who ruffled a small boy's hair as he gently stroked the cheek of the woman standing next to him. A seemingly kind man.  _How long had he been on the ranch?_  she wondered, trying to recall stats from the files.  _Wasn't he a vet?_  Special Forces, she suddenly remembered. Her stomach knotted as protective instincts and a proprietary urge to stalk over and drag her witness away from a potential threat had to be squashed.

"Dammit," she muttered, as there were just too many uncertainties about personnel and players to make an educated conclusion. Or even a gut-driven one. The wrangler hadn't pinged her radar even once since she had met him, and as he now wandered back towards the horses behind the gates, Mary couldn't help but see the genuine pleasure on Sheryl's face left over from his brief visit. Nothing but pure trust there. She swore again as she turned back to her camp-mates and tried to decide on a course of action. Her brief ennui seemingly not noticed due to the intoxicating testosterone cloud wafting across the corral, Mary took the moment to pull out her phone and shoot Stan a text message.

" _Eliot Sweeney. Nothing specific, but S thinks he's pretty_."

It was all she could do for now.

-o-o-o-o-

Marshall ran his hands down Socrates' nose and around his cheeks to check all the straps and buckles of the bridle and reins, murmured words of encouragement and continued his slow pre-ride assessment of the mount the same way a pilot would conduct a pre-flight check. Head to tail and all points in between. He didn't want any structural failures as they chased their prey across the corral. Pretty sure he was going to be shown up by the young bucks despite his nearly equal skill, Marshall knew he had two major disadvantages: time and age. He was out of practice and edging out the top end of the age bracket. He wanted a respectable show in front of the other wranglers. Hell, he'd even have to admit he'd like to impress a certain cowgirl.

He couldn't help but smile as he thought about her soft body pinned between him and the wall. Lips. Tongue. Neck. The way her thigh bunched under his palm as he rocked against her. There was no mistaking that kiss for pretense. She had been as lost as he was, just as defined by the moment; left breathless and wanting as they reluctantly parted.

Socrates snorted and stomped a foot as Marshall had lingered too long behind one haunch, the horse somehow sensing his master's loss of attention.

"You have no idea, buddy," Marshall murmured to the animal as he finished his adjustments, cinching the saddle buckle tight. "And if you embarrass me in front of the pretty lady you'll be on the menu at La Tour d'Argent next week."

Marshall chuckled as Socrates shook his head in apparent argument - or agreement - and swung himself into the saddle as the lineup was announced over the speakers. He focused his mind on the task at hand and desirable outcome. The lasso was draped over the saddle horn, his boots were secure in the stirrups and when he adjusted his weight as he pulled on his gloves, there was no slippage in the saddle. Ready to ride. The wind whipped the loose straw into small dervishes along the fence line as the cowhands led the calf into the ring, and the horses began to dance with excitement. They were familiar with this game and eager to play their part.

He scanned the crowd for the familiar face and found her stare intent upon him, expression unreadable. Uncertainty fluttered uncomfortably in his chest for a moment, but then Mary winked at him and tossed her head in challenge, her own wildness echoed in a movement copied by his mount. He grinned and tipped his hat, acceptance of her metaphoric token of favor.

The calf bawled as one of the cattle dogs slipped into the ring, sensing an opportunity for play. Carter whistled sharply from the direction of the barn and the dog slinked back out to join a few more of her comrades in the shade, apparently disappointed the entertainment was not for her, but the jumpy bovine now attracted the attention of the horses. Marshall could appreciate their eagerness to work. Duty and passion, though anthropomorphized, were one in the same for these animals. They were good at what they did and knew some sort of reward would be forthcoming. He nudged Socrates with a knee to move them closer to the gate. They were first. He checked the angle of the sun one last time, slipped the piggin' string between his teeth, and nodded his readiness.

The speakers beeped the start of the event as the calf was released, and the gate was opened. Socrates burst through in a beeline for the calf with Marshall bent purposefully over his neck, hat shoved low and lasso in his hand. The calf raced to the middle of the ring, braced its front legs and lowed a challenge at the approaching menace, and Mary held her breath as the crowd burst into cheers and calls for one team or the other.

He was intense. Visage of ruthless purpose as he barked direction to the horse while shifting and repositioning to lean into and out of turns as they relentlessly chased their prey. Marshall rose out of the saddle slightly as he primed and twirled the lasso while they finally rode up on the calf, tossing the rope over the animal as he reined Socrates into a skid, dismounting with a leap before the horse was stopped.

Mary found herself leaning against the fence and encouraging him in a low chant as she glanced at the large timer on the pole near the ring. She was fascinated by the corded muscles in his forearms and the sweat stains on his shirt as he wrestled the captured calf onto its side in order to capture its flailing limbs. Her breath quickened with an excitement she hadn't expected to feel. The participants were close to her end of the ring, and Marshall grunted loudly as the calf caught him with one hoof to his thigh. Mary winced in sympathy. That would leave a mark. There was a flurry of movement as long limbs finally succeeded in subduing the adversary, and then Marshall stepped away with his hands in the air. Six seconds later the time was called official as Marshall's knot held. Mary joined the crowd in yelling her approval, pumping one fist in the air. Marshall removed his hat to wipe his forehead with a forearm, squinting at the time on the clock. He shook his head with a grin and shrugged before turning to address the women hanging on the fence. His eyes met Mary's.

"This old boy can still throw down an acceptable wrap and slap, ladies. Watch yourselves."

Diane and Sophie cat-called him and Mary just laughed. Marshall walked over to accept a few high fives, some from Tyler and the other young boys, and he reached out to flick the brim of her hat as he passed her.

" _That_  knot will hold you to just about  _any_ headboard." The words were low and just for her. Challenge and promise from a man in dusty chaps.

Mary grinned and raked him with her gaze as she joined the game. "I guarantee I'll leave more marks that that calf did." There was  _definitely_  too much testosterone this close to the ring.

Desire flashed in his eyes before his attention was called by the other wranglers as they cleared the ring for the next contestant. Mary watched him walk away and had to agree with Diane's prior assessment: Asses and chaps were a highly complementary pair.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Calf roping gave way to bronco busting and barrel racing. Eliot and two other wranglers were the crowd favorites, impromptu cheers floating through the crowd as money was not-so-discretely exchanged as each time flashed onto the clock. Mary somehow found herself upon Marshal for the ladies barrel races. She cursed her way around the obstacles as she fought to retain her seat, but the promise of a month's worth of rib dinners from her partner and two Ben Franklins from the roomies made the humiliating endeavor worth it.

A different story as she assumed her stance for the target shooting. Nothing complicated, just .22's at mid-range with targets of various sizes. Mary was confident in her ability to out-gun the competition…until Sophie stepped up to the line. She shared a shocked look with Marshall as Sophie's scores nudged up against her own. The woman was either a natural or…

"Jesus," Mary said as Sophie turned the rifle over to the next competitor. "Do you reenact Dances with Wolves on the weekend or something?"

"Well, I do a little better with a longer range and an AR-15, but I've been told I'm adequate with this caliber." Sophie's blasé attitude was surprising, and Mary must've looked confused. "Remember that boyfriend I had? He was some sort of sharp shooter. Used to get his rocks off watching me shoot, so…" She shrugged and shoved her hands in her pockets. "Turned out I was some kind of prodigy, so now I keep it up for fun."

Mary mentally re-categorized Sophie into her 'sleep lightly' file as she watched the woman walk over to the judging table to retrieve her scores. The surprises just kept coming, and she shivered slightly as she felt unseen eyes on her again. Looking around, she realized everyone was heading back towards the main lodge; beverages and BBQ promised as reward for a successful event, and her roommate was whistling her over.

 _Two more days, Shannon_ , she promised herself, on the move to join the crowd.  _You're too close to get spooked now._

-o-o-o-o-o-

Either Sheryl and Eliot had made a conscious decision to reveal their relationship, or Mary had not been paying close enough attention. It certainly hadn't been a known fact prior to the marshals' arrival, as there was absolutely no mention of it in any of the files, but whether the relationship itself was new, or just the overt signs, she didn't know. The couple currently sat on one of the benches near the beverage bar, knees touching and heads bowed over their plates, occasionally laughing at something the other said. Tyler would pop over frequently to ask a question or steal a piece of food, more than likely just making sure his presence hadn't been forgotten by the two adults in his life who were now acting oddly. The staff, in general, didn't seem to react to the situation in any noticeable way, telling Mary that the behind-the-scenes gossip was well contained. Outsiders were out of the loop… _as was management_ , she thought as she spotted Brad standing near the dining room doors.

He stared daggers at the couple on the bench. Slowly drinking a beer and half hiding in the shadows late afternoon offered, Mary would definitely describe him as predatory. Sizing up the situation and looking for some weakness to promote, or provoke. Mary knew what he was thinking…what he was planning. She was well acquainted with the games abusers played when their prey attracted a protector. He would decide on one of two options in order to drive a wedge into the relationship, neither forcing him to confront Eliot directly: Convince Sheryl of her own unworthiness, or threaten something precious to her if she didn't abide by his rules.

As if on cue, Leanne galloped out of the barn, beelined for her brother and squatted down next to him while chattering excitedly. His eyes lit up, and she grabbed his hand as she jumped up and pulled him with her back towards the barn. Mary's gaze snapped back to Brad. The man had shifted feet and shoved one hand into his pocket as he finished his beer, his stare now directed at the barn doors.

Mary's gut tightened into a sick knot. She needed to find Marshall.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Marshall led the last horse into the large barn as the ranch guests mingled near the main lodge on the other side of the parking lot. The wranglers and cowhands had eaten early in order to fuel up for the big clean up. Not only did every horse need to be rubbed down and stabled, as the guests were excused this one time, but he and Manuel also pulled the duties of breaking down the makeshift bleachers. Tucky had joined them, making the task slightly easier, but now all three men were a dusty, sweaty mess and ready for the showers. His friends veered off to put away equipment in the smaller barn while Marshall just looked forward to completing the last duty of the day.

He knew he was going to regret the exertions of the day, and his prophecy of aches and pains was now manifesting. Smiling to himself as he recalled some philosophical study expounding upon the rational interpretations of hormonal acts, he could only hope that his intent to impress would be worth the stock he'd have to buy in Bengay. He limped slightly as he turned the corner to lead the mare into her stall. Voices speaking in rapid fire Spanish surprised him.

"…Cargarán el ganado en el granero de Redpoint o en el punto intermedio?" A woman's voice that was familiar.

"Generalmente de Redpoint. Depende encendido si cooperan las vacas," a male replied.

Both parties turned to look at Marshall as he came into view, and Diane smiled brightly.

"Marshall, I was looking for you," she exclaimed. "I decided to just wait and grill poor Gus instead of wandering around aimlessly." She turned to shake Gus' hand and murmured a 'gracias' as the young man took his leave.

The situation felt slightly odd. "And you needed my services because?" Marshall asked, prodding the horse into its stall. He turned back to the woman and tilted his head with a grin. "Obviously not for translation."

Diane chuckled and blushed slightly, walked over to lean against the divider between stall windows. "What? A farm girl from Iowa can't take a class or two of Spanish in high school?"

"And develop a nearly textbook perfect Sonoran accent?" he countered. He patted the horse now eating some oats and stepped out of the stall to secure the door. Resting one hip on the wall a few feet from Diane, Marshall crossed his arms and grinned at her.

She rolled her eyes and waved her hands around dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, the secret's out. Long story quick, my mom died when I was about four, and my dad moved to Mexico City to take a job with the State Department. Of course, he met a señorita, fell in love, and married the poor woman." She paused to chuckle at some inside joke before continuing, "So, my formative years were spent debajo del sol mexicano. We moved back to Iowa when I was about sixteen. Been there ever since." She tossed him a saucy look and levered off the wall.

"I can tell you how incredibly hot you look in about five different dialects…if you'd like?"

Marshall swallowed, automatically formulating an escape plan. "I think Gus would be disappointed. He looked hopeful."

"I think Gus is long gone. Thought I was only interested in the logistics of a cattle drive." She covered the distance between them and reached out to run her finger down his sweaty forearm. "But I was planning on driving something else."

She stared up at him with brown eyes full of intent, and Marshall leaned backwards to eliminate the intimate distance. "That's a problem, ma'am," he drawled, smiling to take the sting out of his refusal, "as they frown upon taking the cars around the track here. Though I do appreciate the notion."

He couldn't believe there was no other person on this end of the barn. Where the hell had everyone gone? He glanced past her shoulder with hopes to glimpse a hint of humanity nearby. Diane took advantage of his inattention to step in toe to toe and hooked one finger over the top of his belt buckle. Marshall stepped back quickly, his own hand covering hers to prevent any further intrusion. Diane chuckled and reached up to ruffle his hair.

"My, my, a little skittish?" she purred. "Don't be…I'm a very good driver."

"Oh!" The exclamation came from the end of the hallway, and Marshall's stomach dropped into his feet as he spotted the intruder.

Mary stood a few feet away with her jacket gripped in one hand and a gamut of emotions playing across her face. He was glad that Diane was facing away for the moment, as there was no mistaking the hurt and anger clearly brewing in Mary's eyes. He found himself shaking his head and mouthing a 'no' in response to her distress, but she only dropped her eyes to stare at the floor in still silence. A moment later, she was in motion with some sound words of advice directed towards her roommate.

"You might want to move to the other side of the wall there. That way no one will be able to see your head and Marshall will have something to hold on to." The flare of her nostrils betrayed the depth of her anger to Marshall even though she managed to keep her tone light.

Diane giggled and turned to face Mary even as she kept a hand on his buckle. "Or…we could just invite you to the party?"

The invitation seemed half serious and Marshall could see Mary's fist tighten within the folds of the jacket. She shoved the other hand into her back pocket and tilted her head in a way that only promised future misery. Wouldn't even look at him. The tight smile that flashed across her face had him prying Diane's hands off him even before she spoke.

"Three's a crowd, from my experience, but by all means…carry on." She caught Marshall's eyes with a hard stare before whirling to stalk back down the hallway and out into the night.

/\/\/\/\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\/\/\

Eliot finally found her in the smaller barn adjacent to the main corral. It had taken him nearly a half hour to track her down once he had run across Maggie and Tyler in the main lodge and been told that Sheryl seemed distressed and had headed out the door "in a tizzy." He wasn't sure of the details, but Tyler had said his mom was mad at his sister for not coming back to the lodge when she called for her.

The setting sun cast the landscape in blue shadow, and as the frogs began to serenade their mates down by the river, Eliot had finally run across a cowhand who had seen Sheryl a few minutes prior. Night had just begun to wrap the world in indigo velvet when he stepped into the shadowy building.

"Sheryl?" he called, anxiety furrowing his brow and quickening his step. There was a flurry of activity in one of the stalls and he walked that way as he called her again. She didn't answer.

She had saddled the horse by the time he reached the stall and was in the process of buckling the harness as he got a good look at her. Eyes reddened from crying, her hair was pulled into a messy ponytail and she had thrown on an oversized jacket she must've grabbed from one of the boys. His concern increased.

"Sher, what's going on?" Eliot stepped in the stall and set his hands on her shoulders. She immediately shrugged him off and whirled to face him.

"I can't find her!" She sniffled and wiped her nose on a sleeve. "I've been looking for an hour, Eliot, and she's nowhere to be found. I need to go look for her…now! I'm terrified that…" Her face crumpled and she turned quickly back to her task but now fumbled with the straps.

"Hey," he tried to remain calm…soothing. "She's probably hunkered down with the new litter of kittens and hasn't heard you calling. She's never wandered off before, Sheryl. She knows better." He rubbed her back. "Let's go through the - "

She cut him off. "Dammit, Eliot, don't you think I thought of that? Don't you think I've looked everywhere ten times? Don't you think I've called her and called her…asked everyone if they've seen her?" Her voice rose in pitch, and as she fumbled the buckle again she cursed and slapped at the horse. The mount stepped away in irritation and Eliot reached out to grab her shoulders again. Turned her to him.

"Okay…okay…I understand." He waited until she looked at him. "But why are you saddling up a ride, Sher? Where are you going? Where do you think she is?"

Sheryl gave her head a quick shake and stared at the wall behind him. "I just need to look around. I just need to check a few spots in case…" Her eyes filled with tears again as her lower lip quivered. She was scared. And now so was he.

"What's going on? What are you not telling me?" He gave her shoulders a gentle shake to regain her attention. "Sheryl. Talk to me so I can help."

She stared at him for a moment longer in indecision as tears ran down her cheeks. Finally, she sighed shakily and reached out to grab his jacket with both hands. Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Okay. Promise to come with me and I'll tell you the story."


	18. Sam Sixkiller

_**"Listen, I cannot do everything by myself. I need someone to go in there with me. No! I lost my inside man, probably dead. And Cucuy, greedy turd that he is, has ratted me out and has dissapeared. Plus, I'm pretty** **sure the Cartel's shadowing me. Now, listen. I have got a swell bunch of guys going to intercept Marquez's army, but they've got no guns! Now listen. I want you to understand me. This is no time to screw the pooch because this is supposed to be the big dance number. Hello? Hello, are you there?** _

_**Ok, ok I'm going to freak right out!"** _

_\- Once Upon a Time in Mexico_

_**"Where I come from we don't shoot horses when they get ornery; we tame 'em."** _

_– Ride Him, Cowboy_

* * *

It took far too long to extricate himself from Diane, the woman determined to either ride him or geld him; neither going to happen in this lifetime. She finally accepted the fact that the ranch hands, as a whole, were not for rent, sale or lease for her pleasure, and pouted coyly as she retreated into the approaching night. It was time to make his own retreat, knowing Mary had now had way too much time to stew, and he knew he was going to have a fight on his hands.

Marshall grabbed his hat from atop the hay bale and retucked his shirt as he began the quest for his partner. Though likely more dangerous than poking a sleeping badger with a sharp stick, he resigned himself to seeking her out in order to preserve his chances for waking on the green side of the grass tomorrow morning. The dust of the day clung to his jeans and boots, and he rubbed at his face to find that he also was in need of a shave. It had been a long day, and he hoped Mary had, by this time, worked through enough of the mental chaos that she would be capable of rational thought. He knew she was well aware of her roommate's proclivity for cowboy extracurricular activities, and he hoped to hell the woman knew him well enough to realize the situation had been thrust upon him.

The sky had faded to a blue only created by nature, and he could hear the horses nickering to each other as they settled in for the night. The wind was still out of the west, bringing with it the scent of river valley, sage and a just a hint of manure from the paddocks out beyond the smaller barn. If he closed his eyes, he could be back on his uncle's ranch. Standing on the wrap around veranda as the warm glow of kitchen lights illuminated the grass at the bottom of the porch steps and the sounds of his aunt and cousins cleaning up the dishes filtered out into the fledgling night. A time of retrospection and dreams in the only place in the world where the two didn't battle each other.

A piercing whistle jarred him from his memories; Manuel calling the dogs into the barn for the night, and Marshall breathed deeply of the heady air before beginning his hunt for Mary.

-o-o-o-o-

She hated that feeling. That feeling of abrupt betrayal that knocked the breath out of you and left you hot and flushed with shame and wrath. Your brain screamed 'no, no, no,' while rationality made its last stand with weak excuses for plausible deniability. Mary had rushed from the barn before she let herself have time to think. She had barely had the presence of mind to remain in character for the brief time she had to interact with Diane before the world started to fade to red and it was time to leave. Retreat. Hide.

"Jesus," she mumbled to herself as she rounded the corner of the smaller barn and headed towards a scraggly copse of trees hiding a small playground. "Get a grip, Mary. Diane's been trying to get into his pants since he got off the fucking bus."  _Yeah, Mary, but how do you know he hasn't wanted to do the same?_  Her ego refused to be silent despite the obvious explanation for the situation. Shaking her head vehemently, she plopped down onto one of the swings and dug her toes into the wood chipped ruts beneath it. Marshall was playing a role, same as she. Flirtation and innuendo came with the job, and she needed to convince herself that what she saw was not a situation her partner had initiated.

Suddenly pissed at herself for even caring as to who was the instigator, she lurched back out of the swing and stalked over to lean against one of the poles. Stared hard into the deepening night. A month ago she would've gone to the lodge with everyone else to have some drinks and given Marshall a ribbing the next day to make him blush. But now…she sighed loudly and crossed her arms over her chest. _Scorned._  That was the word that popped into her head while she tried to dissect the situation. Mary barked a short laugh into the breeze as she remembered the last time she felt that way: twenty three years and one marriage ago. She had never wanted to feel that way again.

She heard the cows low their goodnights in the pasture beyond her hideout and peered into the dusk to make out their silhouettes. Their presence refocused her on the present. This op was complicated enough without adding a new twist, she decided, and she didn't need her senses dulled by worrying about who her partner might have to diddle to get the job done.

He was probably looking for her. Mary kicked a few woodchips into the bushes before deciding to head back. Time to get her head on straight and put emotions back on the dusty shelf where they belonged.

/\/\/\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\/\/\

Eliot had convinced Sheryl to take down the saddle and let him drive her out through the ranch to look for Leanne. Initially his plan was to recheck the barns and lodge for the child, fairly convinced that mother and daughter's paths had just not crossed, but as Sheryl's quiet words filled the air that hope began to die. He reached over her to hang up the last piece of tack as she finished telling him about what she saw at the river.

"Sheryl, are you sure they weren't just lost? Just taking a break?" He had to ask. Her scathing answer was expected.

"I know what I saw, Eliot," she hissed with fists balled at her side. "They couldn't have been more than fourteen…fifteen tops. Scared. One was crying. It was all wrong, and I was just about to go to them when I saw the horse…and Alvarez."

He cursed, and Sheryl hiccupped a breath as her anger again faded into fear. "He threw rocks at the crying one and then threatened to use a cattle prod on them if they didn't get moving." She shook her head vehemently. "It was awful. And I knew…I just knew what it was, you know? I read the paper and see the stories online. I knew it was happening here and I just…"

She spun away from him and gripped her head with her hands. "Dammit, Eliot! Why didn't I just let it be? Why did I have to go and try to make it right when it had nothing to do with me? If I had just let it alone, I wouldn't be in this fucking nightmare!"

He placed his hands on her shoulders as the pit of dread in his stomach grew a little deeper. "What did you do?"

Raising her face to the ceiling, Sheryl took a deep breath before replying. "I reported it to Brad." She glanced behind her to see his shocked look, grabbed his sleeve, and pulled him towards the doors before continuing. "I told him what I saw and what I suspected and that he should call the police. I don't know what I was thinking."

He stopped again, which jerked her to a halt also, and grabbed her upper arms to turn her to face him. "What did he do?"

Her mouth twisted in distaste as tears again welled in her eyes. "He laughed at me, and I knew I was screwed. Told me to keep my mouth shut and my nose out of his business. Tried to convince me that I'd smear Gary's name if I went to the police with the story. That no one would believe me because he'd tell them I was -" She ducked her head and sniffled, wiping her nose with a trembling hand.

"It's all right," he reassured her. "I get it. Threatened everything you are, including your kids, and sent you off to live in fear."

She looked up at him gratefully and nodded, then pulled him towards the door again. He went willingly as his brain began to link pieces of a very scattered puzzle together. He thought of shootings and scared women, out of town visitors during working hours, little suitcases under little beds, and rumors of men with badges buying one too many donuts on the local scene.

"You went right over the heads of the local PD, didn't you?" Eliot asked as Sheryl led him along the side of the barn towards the parking lot. "Something drove you take this higher up the food chain." She apparently interpreted his statement as an accusation and whirled to face him.

"What would you have done? Would you have kept your mouth shut knowing what was going to happen to those girls? Could you live with yourself?" Anger and impatience had her spitting the words at him. "I'm not going to discuss my decisions with you right now, Eliot. I need to find my daughter and I'm going with or without you."

Sheryl turned to stalk towards the lot and Eliot trotted to catch up with her. "I'm right here with you," he promised, knowing there was much more to the story.

/\/\/\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\/\/

Marshall was back in the main barn. Mary had either decided to join the tipplers in the main lodge or had retreated to her cabin; he was secretly glad either way. His mood had soured during his unsuccessful hunt - thoughts turned to witnesses, Taliswell and modes of retribution - and he knew he'd by fairly unsympathetic to any of his partner's accusations. All would be back to normal by morning, he was sure, and now he just wanted to retrieve his gear from where he had dropped it earlier and head to bed.

The lights were out in the east hall, but illumination from the parking lot beyond the doors allowed safe navigation without disturbing the few sleeping inhabitants. He had left his things in one of the empty stalls towards the end. Reaching it, he stepped in to grab his bag, tossed it over one shoulder, and was ready to leave again when truck lights pierced the gloom. Someone had parked right next to the structure. A car door slammed, and curiosity drew him to the edge of the open barn doors. His gut broadcast the need to remain in shadow, and he positioned himself to get a good look at the occupants.

Brad stood under the light and stuffed something in his wallet, calling to his passenger teasingly as he replaced the wallet into his back pocket.

"C'mon, girl, your momma will be waiting for you. And don't get those sticky fingers on my steering wheel."

Leanne jumped down from the passenger seat and turned to push the door shut with a shoulder before skipping over to join her uncle. She carried a paper bag from the local Farm and Fleet, and as Brad turned to walk towards the main lodge, she grabbed his sleeve and tried to pull him back towards the barn.

"Uncle Brad," she whined. "I want to give Peppermint her new bed. She can put her babies in it."

He shook off her arm and palmed the back of her head to turn her towards the original direction. "Tomorrow, Leanne. It's late, and I've got work to do. That cat's not ready to move those kittens yet anyway."

Marshall raised his eyebrows in surprise at the surprisingly familial scene, not expecting Brad to display even this hint of affection for his niece. He had actually conversed with the man a number of times, and his radar had ceaselessly pegged the "slimeball" category throughout the interaction. Though the scene in front of him was seemingly benign, he had a feeling there were unseen malignancies buried in intention and agenda. Just as he was turning away to resume his retreat to the bunks there was a shout from past the truck. A hint of panic in a voice otherwise expressing relief.  _Oh yeah, here we go_ , he thought, turning back into his hiding place.

Sheryl came into view at a trot, Eliot a few feet behind her, and Marshall sucked in a breath. The miasma of a bad feeling degraded into a full blown stink.

"Leanne!" her voice was shrill as she held out both hands and beckoned for her daughter. "Come here, right now!"

The child must have picked up on the urgency in her mother's voice as she scampered over to her waiting arms without protest. Sheryl squatted down to hug her, then pulled back to look the girl over carefully. Mumbling questions Marshall couldn't hear, Sheryl swept Leanne's hair back from her face and pushed up both sleeves, even turned her around to look at her back before pulling her back into a hug and glaring at Brad. "What did you do?" More of an accusation than a question.

Brad stood in one place and smiled smugly, twirling his truck keys around one finger as Sheryl's quick inspection took place. He shrugged one shoulder in apparent innocence as she asked the question; looked to Eliot as if the other man would help him out. Eliot, for his part, was still as a statue as he assessed the situation in front of him. The wrangler's face was in shadow, but his body language advertised the threat that couldn't be seen in his eyes. Marshall was reminded of the air before a storm: heavy with warning while the leaves started to rustle ahead of the danger. He quietly set his bag on the shelves near him and unzipped it enough to slide in one hand. Fingered the Glock resting just inside. Wondered where Mary was one more time.

Brad chuckled before he answered. "She's been going on about those kittens for hours now. Since I was running into town I thought I'd take her with me. Let her grab a few things for the critters and treat her to a DQ." He grinned wider and took a few steps towards the pair as Sheryl stood and released Leanne. "I didn't think you'd mind, Sher. I know you can't keep your eye on her all the time…"

He flipped his keys into his palm and closed a fist over them, turning his head to look at Eliot as the grin now faded. "Especially now that you might want some alone time with Sweeney here."

Eliot shifted his stance with Brad's approach, and Marshall was sure he could now hear the rumble and crackle of metaphoric thunder and lightning. He almost jumped out of his skin when a hand gripped his elbow.

"What the hell are you doing?" Mary hissed, somehow knowing to keep her voice down as she peered around him. "You look like Pee Wee Herman at a Saturday matinee -"

She caught sight of the parking lot tableau and tried to push by him with a curse. "Shit!" Marshall swung out an arm to bar her passage.

"Don't," he warned. "It's still just bullies on the playground right now. We need to let them duke it out." His words were more prophetic than he would've thought.

Sheryl said something to Leanne and the girl nodded, jumped up to kiss her mother on the cheek and took off with the perpetual jog of a child towards the main lodge. There was a moment of calm as the adults watched her retreat, then Sheryl stepped forward to land a well executed right hook into the side of Brad's face. No preamble…no warning, and the man stumbled backwards with a shout as all hell broke loose.

Marshall missed the first few countermoves as he was busy restraining his partner. Mary had jumped out with intent to enter the fray, and he clawed at the back of her jacket to bring her up short. Wrapped an arm around her waist and dragged her back behind the door.

"Wait…wait," he instructed, grunting as she landed an elbow to his gut. "Dammit, Mary, we have to let it be. This isn't Albuquerque, and we're not supposed to even be here."

Marshall's words penetrated her anger fogged brain even as she watched Sheryl again launch herself at the ranch manager before he could shake off the blow.

"I hate you, you bastard!" Sheryl yelled, her face a mask of rage. "I hate you!"

Brad caught her arm this time, lifted his own to retaliate, and was intercepted by Eliot. The wrangler simultaneously pushed Sheryl out of the way as he blocked Brad's blow and spun the man into a loose headlock. He was fast, and Mary suspected he had seen fights like this before…or started them. Not knowing what had led up to the confrontation, and seeing Sheryl at a now safe distance, she reluctantly trusted her partner's judgment and ceased fighting him to watch; attention focused on her witness. The woman had backpedaled with Eliot's push, stumbled, and landed on her ass about ten feet from the now struggling men. She pushed to her knees and cursed at the opponents, the only spectator close to the ring.

It was an uneven wrestling match, Eliot possessing strength and training that Brad no longer had nor cultivated, and Eliot had the taller man trapped in a painful arm bar before the ruckus had attracted any onlookers. Brad cursed and spit, but Eliot gave him no quarter.

"Sheryl," the wrangler was curt. "Go get the kids and take them home. Stay there."

She tried to argue, but Eliot was insistent, and the woman finally headed across the parking lot with fearful glances in her wake. Mary relaxed against Marshall as her witness retreated to safety, though her heart continued to pound with unquenched anxiety as the power play in the parking lot had not resolved. Finally, Eliot levered himself off of Brad with a well placed knee in the ribs to keep the loser down for a few more counts while the victor backed away. Brad lurched to his feet and whirled to point a finger at Eliot.

"You can pack your fucking bags, Sweeney. You're done here."

Eliot didn't flinch, only offered his own words of advice. "Stay away from her…and those kids." He stared at the other man for a moment more before turning his back to walk away, his parting shot a promise. "And I think I'll be staying."

The marshals ducked back into the empty stall as Brad limped over to his truck. He kicked the tire and slammed a palm into the door a few times in a fit of pique before wrenching it open and climbing inside. A minute later he was tearing out the parking lot with only the running lights on, a menace well beyond his domain.

Mary leaned back against the stall wall and blew out a long slow breath. "Jeeesus. This just gets better and better."

Marshall stood staring down the dark hallway, tense and alert. The barn seemed deserted now, but he couldn't talk himself down. Finally he turned to her with his own sigh. "So it would seem. And do you now see why I didn't want you jumping into that? Would've blown our cover for nothing."

She sneered at him and levered off the wall to square her shoulders. "You don't even know what 'that' was, idiot. She's going heels to his heaven, it seems, and from the way he handed Brad his own ass, I'm guessing the pillow talk isn't about china patterns." Hands on her hips now as she snorted in disbelief.

"But then, how would you know what was  _really_  going on when you've been too busy trying to get your own cover blown in a completely different way."

He rolled his eyes and tossed his hands in the air. "And there it is. Knew it wouldn't take long." Turned to face her while drawing himself up to his full height. "That was nowhere near what it looked like and you know it."

Mary stepped closer, nearly toe to toe in challenge. "It  _looked_  like you were getting ready to pony up to the farm."

She was close enough he could smell her shampoo. A cricket began to serenade them from the stall next door and the suddenly oppressive darkness seemed to wend its way into his senses. He wanted to fight.

"It's an undercover operation, Mary. Can't always be too picky with your…indiscretions…if you're to get the job done." Her head snapped up to meet his gaze and he could feel her ire rising.

"Is that what you were doing this morning, Marshall? Getting the job done?" her voice dropped an octave with threat, and she reached out to trail a single finger down his stomach. Let it rest right above his belt buckle. His abs twitched in response and her lips turned up in a half grin. Predatory.

"Oh, did you think I was done?" he asked, matching her tone. He caught her hand with his own and lifted it to his mouth. Turned it over to place a kiss on the inside of her wrist and smiled his own smile at her soft gasp.

She opened her mouth to reply and he moved in, still holding her wrist while he buried the other hand in her hair. Her words became a surprised moan as his lips covered hers and his tongue slid along her teeth, silencing her as her body shouted its sudden arousal. The whole day had been fraught with pent up anxiety and too much emotion, and now the choice between flight or fight carried another, more pleasant, option. Mary stretched up to wrap her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss with her own tongue, the roughness of his stubble on her chin urging her on. Indiscretions be damned, she wanted him now.

He couldn't stop kissing her. Her lips, her jaw, her throat…all so soft. Her scent filled his nostrils and every breath only aroused him more. Both hands wound into her hair, Marshall worked back to her mouth and sucked her bottom lip between his teeth for a gentle nibble. Mary moaned again and her hands pulled at his t-shirt, freeing it from his jeans.

Her fingers burned his skin as they crawled around to his stomach, and he bucked against her as the sensitive skin reacted, jeans straining against an erection begging for release. Pain…pleasure…want. He kissed her harder, tongue plundering the soft, sweet treasure as he cupped the back of her head to hold her securely. Marshall's feet knew the way to the wall of the stall and he was moving without conscious thought, all senses overwhelmed with the feel, taste and smell of the woman driving him mad.

Mary grunted slightly when they collided with the hard surface, and as her hands glided over his nipples, Marshall raised his head with a tortured hiss.

"Ah, god, Mary. I'm not going be able to stop soon…I can't…" his protest was cut short as she pinched him lightly and he sucked in a breath.

"I don't want to stop," she murmured feverishly, leaning into him to nip her way up his neck to suckle his jaw. "I want you to touch me."

His universe blurred when Mary's mouth reached his earlobe, her soft tongue swirling around the lobe before she drew it into her mouth. His own hands found their way to the hem of her shirt and quickly rucked it up to expose her bra to the night air. Marshall wasn't even sure whose moans filled the air anymore, just knew he needed to feel her skin…taste her. He deftly undid her bra as she gently raked her nails down his torso.

Marshall leaned back slightly, pushed the cups of the modest bra up to expose Mary's breasts and was dizzy with the sight. They were perfect. Full and heavy, nipples pink and hardened by arousal and the cool air. He ran his hands over them reverently, feeling their weight in his palms and sighing as she groaned with the stimulation. He circled the pebbled peaks with the pads of his fingers, mesmerized, and Mary jerked on his jeans.

"Marshall," it was a groaned plea, "please."

"I wanted to take our time," he whispered back, unable to draw his eyes away from her breasts. "Wanted to please you slowly…over and over…"

"Another time," Mary urged, reaching up to capture his head and force his eyes upward. He dragged his gaze up to hers and was pinned by the depth of want in her eyes, irises nearly completely black with desire. "There'll be another time. But right now… _now_ …"

He needed no further urging and lowered his mouth to her breast. Mary arched into him as he wrapped one arm around her and used the other to massage and roll her other nipple as he suckled one. She tasted of soap and sweat and heaven and he was lost.

Mary staggered slightly as Marshall's mouth closed around her. Her ears rang with the blood pounding through her veins, and as he laved at her nipple with a hungry moan, she wasn't sure she could be more aroused. Her groin throbbed to the point of pain, and she knew only want. She needed him. All of him. On her…in her.

Working her hands around his elbows, Mary slid her hands down his sides and over the front of his jeans to cup his hardened erection. Marshall pushed his hips into her hands and moaned as he lightly nipped her breast. She faintly heard herself whimper with the bolt of pleasure that shot through her, but her hands never stopped stroking him. Finally frustrated by the barrier, she fumbled for the button and worked it free. Fuzzy minded with his attentions to her other breast, she shakily released the zipper and swiftly plunged her hand down the front of his boxers to embrace him. She closed her eyes in pleasure at the feel of his velvety hardness and stroked the length of him with murmured praise.

Her fingers curled around him and a swift and dangerous jolt of current coursed through his body; had him seeing stars and pulling her breast deep into his mouth. She whispered and stroked him and he knew he wouldn't last if they continued at this place. Raising his head, Marshall again captured her mouth with a bruising kiss as Mary worked her other hand into his shorts to cup his testicles. On fire…he was on fire…and he had to have her. She had to be his.

Marshall's hands left her breasts to scurry south to her own jeans, swiftly undoing any barriers. He could smell their arousal now…their heat, and all he could think of was what awaited him. Her warm belly quivered as he touched it, and she made little sounds of urgency against his lips which only drove him to fumble with the edges of her zipper. Finally defeating the fabric, he slid his fingers beneath the elastic of her panties and Mary shuddered with a long, drawn out moan.

 _His fingers…oh, god…his fingers_ , she thought, her own hands unconsciously mimicking his rhythm and tempo as he stroked and teased and slowly slid those fingers into her. She thrust her hips against his hand, body begging for more pleasure…less pleasure…something more. She sucked his tongue into her mouth in need as their kiss became frantic.

Wet…soft…hot…exquisite…the words tumbled through his addled brain as he touched her. Her folds parted for his questing fingers, and as he sunk them into her and felt her clench softly around him he could feel his balls tightening in readiness. It was time.

Marshall reared back suddenly and Mary gasped in surprise.

"What?" she asked anxiously as she tried to recapture him, her hands caught in his boxers.

He stared at her swollen lips, tousled hair and nearly naked state as he fumbled in his back pocket. It was permanently etched into his mind, this picture of her with eyes full of want and desire and her hands down the front of his jeans, and as he fished a condom out of his wallet, Marshall leaned in to gently place a chaste kiss on her lips; smiled at the question in her eyes.

"We don't need that," she whispered, now seeing his intent.

Gently removing her hands, he pushed his boxers down enough to give him room to quickly don the condom. "Clean up," he replied, and then he had her in his arms again.

Her protests were quickly dismissed as the full heat of his arousal was pressed against her belly. He kissed her mouth, her neck…his hands cupping her breasts then sliding around to grab her ass and pull her roughly against him. Mary wiggled in frustration and gasped her displeasure at being denied.

"This isn't going to work…my jeans. And we can't…can't undress…" God, it was hard to think when her ovaries were exploding.

Marshall couldn't wait anymore…couldn't withstand the intense torture of feeling her skin on his own and not being able to bury himself in her. He gently spun her to face the wall, then pushed her jeans and panties down around her thighs. She murmured surprise and immediately tried to turn back around.

"Marshall, wait…I don't…"

He slid his hands around to stroke her belly and up to cup both breasts, squeezing softly as he leaned in to nibble her ear. Whispered encouragement. "I can touch all of you this way." One hand wandered back down to tease her wet curls and he flicked his finger against her clit. "Feel you. Taste you. Just trust me." He suckled the soft spot beneath her ear and felt her shiver and relax. Her hands reached up to grip the wall in front of her and she moaned assent.

He touched her, stroked her; fingers teasing curves and skin while his lips revered her neck and shoulders until she panted and begged and he thought he might need another condom. Sliding one hand up her back to bury his hand in her hair, he took himself in his other hand and guided his heavy erection past the cleft of her buttocks and between her legs to nestle in her heat. Sliding against her wetness was torture, and Mary rocked back slightly with the sensation as pleas fell from her lips.

"Jesus, Marshall…please!" He could see her tighten her grip on the wall.

Positioning himself at her entrance, Marshall leaned forward to finally push himself slowly inside her. Sight and hearing were forgotten as every nerve cell was overtaken with the feel of that final journey. The constriction of her jeans around her thighs, the limitations of the position and Mary's throaty mewl as she closed around him made him think he may not last longer than one thrust. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he was finally buried inside of her with her buttocks snug against his groin, and he gripped her hip forcefully to maintain any shred of control.

"So tight," he groaned, resting his forehead against the back of her head as he held her still and felt her tremble. "Don't move…I'm…ah, god…you're so tight…"

Mary concentrated on the heat building between her legs. She was throbbing, and as her partner entered her slowly, filling her completely, the tingle of ultimate pleasure began to swirl deep within her. She reached behind her with one hand to grip his hip and dug her nails in to encourage him closer…deeper. He touched every part of her and she thought she might come without him even having to move. His breath on her neck, fingers tangled in her hair and urgent murmurs only pushed her closer to the edge. She clenched her muscles involuntarily as her body begged for mercy.

Mary tightened around him and Marshall's paper thin control ripped apart. He began to thrust deeply and slowly as he slid his free hand around to slide through her curls and stroke her, pulling her tightly against him with each thrust and pressing on that sensitive nub. He curled around her to whisper against her temple as he quickly worked them into a frenzy. Mary's sounds of pleasure drove him to move faster…harder, her jerky counterthrusts dragging primal grunts of need from his throat as he pressed his face into her neck. And when she arched and bucked against him with a hoarse cry, shuddering with her release, he claimed her for his own; drove himself deeply inside her and bit down on her neck to muffle his shout as orgasm overwhelmed him.

Paradise.


	19. Bucky Burke

_**Sara: The least you can do is take off your hat.** _

_**Hogan: Haven't got time for that.** _

_\- Two Mules for Sister Sara_

-o-o-

_**Violet: Alright, you win. I'll do it.** _

_**Kevin: I love winning.** _

_\- Coyote Ugly_

* * *

Mary slowly prodded her awareness beyond her semi-somnolent state, noticing sounds and smells as they intruded upon her consciousness, but not yet ready to open her eyes. The mental cheerleaders had been worn out, pom-poms and megaphones abandoned in some post-orgasmic rapture, leaving only echoes of encouragement resounding on the field of play. She chuckled softly at her own ridiculous image. Somehow, she felt victorious. A conqueror of what, exactly, she wasn't sure, but she knew there had been some battle fought and won, and now she lay enjoying the spoils of victory; a fading endorphin rush that left her spent and…content.

Marshall had braced them both against the wall, his breath hot and moist as he had panted and murmured against her neck, likely having as much trouble supporting his own weight as she; legs weak and trembling with effort while beleaguered hormones contributed to the dizzying afterstate. It had been a long time since she had had mind blowing sex, and when he gripped her waist for balance as he slowly slipped out of her, Mary stumbled slightly with the shift in their weight, more unsteady than she had thought.

He muttered a 'whoa', which caused them both to giggle slightly, and they had straightened their jeans and helped each other to the floor, too aware of the potential awkwardness to commit to conversation or argument…or fastenings. Mary had allowed him to encourage her into her current state: supine and using his thigh as a headrest as he sat with his back against the wall. She was now bothered by the straw poking into her back and aware of the cool breeze from the window caressing the bare skin of her abdomen. Frowning, she reached up to pull her t-shirt down the last few inches and finally button her jeans, shifting slightly to remove a particularly pointy piece of straw from under her ribs. The small movements reminded her there were going to be a few unusually tender spots in the morning. Rode hard. Mary crossed her legs at the ankle as she folded her hands on her stomach and sighed.

"Marshall?" her voice gently interrupted a cricket's song from the corner.

"Hmm?" His sleepy acknowledgment was punctuated by his fingers curling around her bicep, smoothing the material of her shirt before coming to rest near her elbow.

"Remind me to keep an eye on my six the next time we're alone in a barn."

She opened her eyes to stare at the ceiling as she heard him fully awaken with a deep breath. Fought a grin as she felt him stare at her in the dark.

Marshall had happily allowed his mind to wander in post-coital bliss for the brief amount of time that his partner would let him, encouraged by the fact she hadn't turn tail and run as of yet…or beat him senseless. He slowly rocked his head against a seam in the wall to keep himself from falling completely asleep, lulled close to the edge by the fading tingle of pleasure in his loins, the dark muskiness of the stall and the warm weight of Mary's head on his thigh. Content. Long buried desires released at last, and he huffed a quiet grunt of amusement at a stray thought to call his mother and assure her he was in no more danger of trouser asphyxiation.

He had felt Mary stir, rousing to wakefulness and likely seeking a more comfortable position, and he momentarily mourned the loss of imagined romance that was certain to follow. Her statement had him rolling his head to one side to peer down at her. There was no tension or accusation in her tone, her muscles relaxed under his hand, so he took his time to ponder his reply. Decided to play into the attempt at banter as his battered brain cells were too tired to avoid potential pitfalls.

"Would you have preferred I took the time to remove your boots?" he asked with a grin.

Mary released a short 'pfft' with her reply, "And end up with splinters in my ass? No thanks, Romeo."

Her mention of that most delectable part of her anatomy had him humming in remembered pleasure, and she reached out to grab a handful of straw and toss it backwards onto his chest. "Hey!" he protested, brushing it off and picking a few stray pieces out of her hair. He let his fingers linger on her forehead, slowly tracing the arc of her hairline as the silence again descended.

"Sooo…" he let the word swirl into the shadows and waited; tried not to let the anxiety take root in his gut.

Mary tilted her head back to squint at him. "I'm still here, Marshall. We're good." She rolled onto her side to get a more direct line of sight. "But if you start waxing poetic about fireworks or some such crap you'll find your ass right back at the self service pump."

"The ancient Chinese accidentally invented fireworks sometime during the 7th century when one of their master chefs combined odd ingredients with intent to make an elixir of immortality. The resulting colorful flash-bang was eventually packaged, and thought to ward off evil spirits." Marshall continued his educational comeback despite Mary's loud sigh and half-hearted punch to his thigh as she levered herself into a sitting position beside him. "To this day, fireworks are used in celebration of births, deaths and other victorious events."

He turned his head to see her picking a few more pieces of straw from her hair, disheveled and trying her best to ignore him. He felt a lump in his throat.

"Ni shi jing ren he mei li de nu," he said softly, thinking of ancient celebrations of new paths and new life.

"If that means you sound ridiculous speaking Chinese, I couldn't agree more." Mary closed her eyes and rested her head back against the wall.

"My lady would prefer…Zuni?" he asked with a smile. "Tom ho' ichema." He felt a little flutter of excitement in his gut even though she didn't understand the words.

The words may have meant nothing to her, but the tone…Mary could feel the heat of his body only centimeters from her own, and she knew if she opened her eyes to look in his there would be far too much emotion there to keep her afloat. Too far to fall off of a cliff she had only just been brave enough to approach. It was too soon.

"Wax any more and you'll be speaking Brazilian," she warned.

He couldn't stop himself. "Actually, there's no such language - "

"Marshall…"

He fell silent, heeding both her warning and his own need to step back from the slippery slope he'd almost started upon. He wanted to touch her, knew he shouldn't, but needed some reason to keep her there for a little while longer.

"How long have you known about Sheryl and Eliot?" he asked, not able to think of any delay tactic other than discussion of the case.

"I haven't been keeping it from you," she replied, surprisingly defensive.

Marshall reached over to lay a hand on her thigh, just for a moment. "I didn't mean to imply you were withholding information, Mare. I was just curious as to when you realized they were together. Putting together a timeline." He took his hand back and shifted his weight to relieve some pressure on his backside.

She felt slightly ridiculous, defenses on overdrive for reasons she was sure to over-analyze later. Taking a deep breath, Mary forced herself to focus on the here and now. He wasn't asking anything other than the obvious. She picked up a piece of straw to shred.

"I suspected during the rodeo. Just the way they looked at each other. By the time we were all at the picnic they were just about dry humping over a plate of ribs." Flecks of yellow began to cover her lap. "It didn't go unnoticed."

Reflections of the day had her suddenly frowning and digging her phone out of its holder. Marshall straightened to attention. "What?"

"I texted Stan earlier. Basically asked him to pull anything on Sweeney." She scrolled through her text log. Nothing. "Huh."

"Stan's supposed to send me some downloads later tonight. I'll ask him to include anything on your request, but I don't think Eliot was tagged at a threat." The blue glow from Mary's cell phone screen blinked out as she reholstered it. "Good 'ole Southern boy recruited into the Navy, did his time in the Middle East, wounded in combat on his last tour with a Distinguished Service medal, and now he's come full circle and back on a ranch."

He could feel Mary squinting at him and swiveled his head to return the stare, eyebrows raised. "Did you not read the file?"

"I  _read_  it," she replied. "I just didn't take it into the bathroom for study." She flicked the straw detritus off her lap and picked up another piece. "What he'd get the medal for?"

Marshall shrugged, unseen. "It's redacted. The only part of his file we couldn't get. Not surprising, considering he was a SEAL."

Mary chuckled and let her head fall back against the wall. "Jesus. A cowboy, a SEAL, great looking with a great ass, and halfway intelligent. I'm surprised he's not on a cover of some trashy romance novel…or that my roommate hasn't climbed him like a tree yet."

His flinch wasn't noticed. "Um, yeah…about that…"

"Let's not, okay? Especially now."

Her quick dismissal was understandable, but his thoughts had already replayed the incident. Backtracked a little further. "Okay, but let me ask you, what has she told you about her background?"

Mary's head came off the wall again as she peered at him. "Seriously, Marshall, the milk maid?"

"I overheard a small part of a conversation she was having with one of the tack managers about the round-up. In Spanish…fluent Spanish." He cracked his knuckles as he waited for her reply. "It seemed rather dichotomous considering her heritage and citizenship."

"Says the man who spouts random crap in French and Chinese," she retorted smugly, more than happy to pounce on his hypocrisy as he gave her a long suffering look. "You're barking up the wrong tree, Lassie. Diane's made no secret about her upbringing south of the border. In fact, she still has relatives down there in some city I can't pronounce, and they have huge family reunions every year. Trust me, Iowa's here for the carnival rides, nothing more."

He nodded slowly. "That's the story she gave me too. It's plausible…" He let the thought tumble about as he began the slow process of getting up off the floor. His efforts were soon mirrored by his partner, and grunts and groans were the rewards for achieving the vertical.

Marshall brushed bedding off his ass while continuing the conversation. "If you were a betting woman, who would you say is the inside man?"

Mary tugged on her jeans as she considered the question. Ran a hand through her hair as she considered the oddest post-sex conversation she'd ever had. "My money's almost all on DuBois. I think he has contacts beyond Brad, and I think he's been biding his time. How long he's been sleeping with the Zetas is anyone's guess."

Marshall hummed in thought as he pondered her reply while cleaning up the stall. Mary found his hat tossed into a corner and grabbed it before stepping over to meet him in the doorway. She watched him while he cleaned his hands with a handkerchief. He seemed taller somehow…more solid. Likely a trick of the light as the night deepened, but a queer feeling in her gut dared her to think otherwise.

Dared her to think of her partner as a man worthy of respect outside of the job. A man who attracted more than his share of admirers who'd be more than happy to take him to their bed. A  _man_. Not a goofy sidekick she could so easily dismiss once he was out of sight, though that had been nearly impossible since that day in the office. It had been leading to this, she couldn't deny that looking back now, but she hadn't expected to feel quite so…off. Quite so unsure of herself. She also hadn't expected to allow  _any_  man to take her the way Marshall had. There was a wildness there that excited her more than it probably should, and she wondered what it would be like next time. And the time after that. Shifting her weight, she was glad she brought multiple pairs of jeans.

"…ransom?" The tail end of his question had her blinking at him quizzically in the dark.

"What?"

He smiled. "My hat?" Held out his hand. "And dare I ask what you were thinking just now?"

Mary bypassed his reach and stepped forward to place the hat on his head; straightened his collar as her hands trailed down to rest lightly on his ribcage. "Thinking about how many ways I'm going to kick your ass for tricking me into that barrel race today."

His throat was a little dry with her ministrations, her touch always eliciting small jolts of electricity that went straight to his groin, but had to smile with her blatant lie. He could read her too well. She'd been feigning nonchalance since they both stirred back to awareness on the stall floor, and he wondered if it was just an overall discomfort with post-coital chit chat or something more specific. Some emotional battle she'd never admit.

He had, in a way, forced her into a state of trust against that wall. No coercion to the act itself, but in their immediate need she had given permission to him alone. He would chastise himself if he stopped to think about all the reasons she could've drawn the line there, but she didn't. She trusted. She stayed.

Marshall reached up to frame her face with both hands, tilting her head up gently so she would meet his gaze. The darkness intensified the intimacy. He caressed her cheekbones with his thumbs, and her fingers lightly grazed his ribs in response.

"Are you okay?" he asked in a near whisper.

There was no reply she'd be able to give without choking on the lump of emotion in her throat, so Mary just nodded. He leaned forward, hesitated, then closed the distance between them with a slow, reassuring kiss. His hands supported her head as she reached up to wrap her arms around his neck, enjoying the way his lips played across hers as the night whispered around them.

Finally, Marshall pulled back with a slow moan, sighing as he stared down at her with a crooked grin. "I wonder how many empty stalls are in this place."

Mary slapped at his chest, grateful for his casual segue. "Dream on, Tonto. This is the one and only time I pick straw out my pants for you." She saw a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes and was quick to amend her statement. "Next time better be in the proximity of a hot shower and a kitchen."

He grinned widely and released her, reassured, then sobered quickly as they heard Brad's truck rumble back into the parking lot. It was time to disappear back into the ruse.

"Take the back way out of here, Mary, and loop around behind the corral to get to your cabin." Marshall nudged her towards the back doors as he spoke. "He won't see you that way whether he heads to the bunkhouse or the office."

"What about you?" she asked, hesitating.

"I'm a cowboy. I've got about ten good reasons to be in this barn right now." He hooked his thumbs in his jeans and posed.

"You're an idiot," she mumbled, chuckling as she turned towards her escape.

/\/\/\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\/\/\/

Sheryl again lay staring at the dancing shadows on the ceiling for a second night in a row. This time, though, fear had been replaced by comfort, and the weight of decision no longer lay heavy upon her chest. In fact, the only thing that lay upon her chest was the well muscled arm of the person responsible for her languid state. Eliot. He had followed her home after the altercation in the parking lot, soothing both physical and emotional unrest, and finally giving in to more carnal desires as they both needed more than words and hot tea. He fussed slightly about waking the children, but as she slid out of her shirt and shorts his protests died on a moan, and he closed the bedroom door before quickly divesting himself of his own clothes.

It had been a long, long time since she had taken a man to her bed, Gary's disappearance holding her to vows she took seriously, and Sheryl had nearly forgotten the feeling of relaxed pleasure only achieved from vigorous lovemaking. Content. Spent. Delightfully sore. She rubbed Eliot's arm as she hummed in satisfaction. He stirred in response.

"I should go," he whispered, scooting closer to nuzzle her ear. "Or at least move out to the couch before the kids wake up."

"Are you worried about your honor?" she teased, turning her head to meet his lips with a soft kiss.

"Mmmm," he murmured into her mouth, his captured arm now shifting so he could caress her shoulder, down to her breast to play with her nipple. "You could convince me to stay a little longer, darlin'."

Sheryl caught her breath as he gently pinched her, rolled to face him and slid her leg up over his. She smiled as his hardness nestled against her. "I think you've already convinced yourself."

Eliot reached down to hitch her leg up over his waist as he rolled her under him with a wicked grin. Kissed her hard and long as she wiggled slightly to coax him into her.

"Stay…a little longer…" her gasp joined his groan as he slid home.


	20. CRV Schefsky

_**_**Wyatt Earp: All right, Clanton... you called down the thunder, well now you've got it!** _   
** _

_**You see that? [pulls open his coat, revealing a badge]** _

_**Wyatt Earp: It says United States Marshal!** _

_**Ike Clanton: Wyatt, please, I...** _

_**Wyatt Earp: [referring to Stilwell, laying dead] Take a good look at him, Ike... 'cause that's how you're gonna end up!** _

_\- Tombstone_

_-o-o-o-_

_**Doc Holliday: Why Johnny Ringo, you look like somebody just walked over your grave.** _

_\- Tombstone_

* * *

The office was stuffy.

Brad released another smoke filled breath into the stale air as he stared vacantly at the framed picture on the wall opposite his desk. Rocked back further in his chair and took no notice of the figures standing next to a half constructed barn, smiling in sepia toned accomplishment. He was near motionless as he tried to make some sense of the myriad of half-formed thoughts and plans that now bombarded his already shattered morning peace.

He hadn't slept well…hadn't slept much at all in the last few weeks, but last night was worse than most. Fledgling dreams only morphed into nightmarish scenarios of betrayal and failure, and the addition of physical reminders of his own inattention to home matters haunted him upon waking. By the time the sun came up he was showered, dressed and harassing the kitchen staff for an early breakfast. He had hoped to escape into the daily matters of budget and logistics for a few hours, but one phone call had destroyed any illusion of normalcy.

Jaime was coming to town…tonight. Brad bounced his head against the back of the chair with a frustrated sigh as he again thought about the brief conversation with Lúcho. The man was sending his younger brother to oversee a previously unmonitored deal, and Brad's stomach rolled yet again at the implications. Garcia claimed it was because of the value of the final package, but Brad was fairly sure the dealer suspected a double-cross…or possibly planned one of his own.

In a flurry of motion, Brad stubbed out his cigarette in a crudely made clay ashtray as he rose, levered open the window and stepped over to the stained coffee maker to pour himself another cup. He flared his nostrils in displeasure at thoughts of betrayal, knowing full well the old adage regarding honor among thieves. There was no guarantee he would come out of this deal with exactly what he had asked for - no guarantee he'd even come out alive – but it gnawed at him that all his carefully laid plans were being challenged due to the presence of one Fed and a stupid woman. The same stupid woman who had derailed his plans the last time.

_They had stood out behind the equipment shed near the new guest cabins, nudging tin cans full of sour tobacco spit out of their way in order to get close to the building and out of the cold wind. Alone for the time being, Brad took the opportunity to vent his anger towards his brother without having to mince his words._

" _You're telling me you're backing out of this deal because of some piece of ass?" He tugged the collar of his jacket more tightly around his exposed neck as the wind licked around the corner. "For chrissake, Gary, she's nothing but town stock. She'll be happy with a weekly fuck and suck, and you can still be my money guy."_

_Gary took a long draw on his cigarette and glared at his brother for a slow minute before replying. "I'm not having this conversation again, bro, and this is the last time I tell you to keep your mouth shut about Sheryl. It's a done deal. She's not going to be the mother of my kids without a ring on her finger. Or did you learn nothing from Dad?" He flicked his cigarette to the ground and rubbed it into the soil with his boot, then looked back at Brad with a sneer. "Oh, that's right, Dad was a fuck-up in your eyes. Earning an honest living was never a high priority with you."_

" _You're the one who takes after the old man, Gary," Brad replied, voice low with threat. "That soft underbelly that'll only guarantee a lonely grave some day. I prefer to go out with a little more fanfare. My name on more lips than just a few hungry mouths I have to feed."_

_Gary snorted and looked past him as he zipped up his coat. "Delusions of grandeur were always your specialty, little brother. I'll take the lonely grave over the early one any day." He met Brad's eyes again with a hard stare. "I'm done. I'm out. And if I even imagine you're trying to involve me or mine in your little scheme you'll suffer the consequences. Go play on the other side of the playground."_

_Brad had stared after the retreating man for a long time, only vacating his own spot as the gray clouds began sprinkle him with wind-driven sleet. He would revise the plan…make it better…and Gary would see the error of his ways._

The spit and sizzle of water on the hot burner of the coffee maker drew Brad's attention back to the present. He replaced the pot he had held in his hand and wondered what ill-timed advice his brother would try to give him now, as he stood armpit deep in a deal that may well turn out to be that early grave. A shiver of…something…traveled up his spine, and Brad growled in displeasure that he would allow himself even a hint of uncertainty at this juncture. Now was a bad time to start second guessing; not the time to jump at shadows and draw attention to himself.

Indulging in a sugar cube, Brad let the sweetness coat his tongue and throat for a few moments before washing it down with a mouthful of hot, bitter coffee. Smacked his lips together to savor the taste as he pulled one thought out of the tangled mess in his mind: the past had lingered for too long.

/\/\/\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\/\/

Mary's phone 'ponged' a text message alert for the second time, the sound muffled by her pillow and a large wad of blankets between her ear and the device. Her brain finally connected the sound to reality, and she moaned as she sleepily dug her hand under the pillow in search. She was sure it was too early for any communication. Sure that the recipient of such an unwise shout-out was going to catch hell once she got into the office…

The thought died a quick death as the sounds and smells of the cabin finally fired up all her synapses. The ranch. The witness.  _Crap!_  Scrabbling at the sheet, Mary finally secured the phone and pulled it out as she raked the hair out of her face. Marshall. She turned away from Diane's bed - vaguely remembering her roommate's late return – to keep the screen glow confined as she opened the message.

_Morning, Cowgirl. Hard labor on the fences for me today. Doubt I'll have a signal. No word from Stan. Passing the baton to you._

_Behave._

She rubbed the sleep out of one eye and tried to focus on the time. Too early to head to breakfast, but late enough she wasn't going to go back to sleep. The adrenaline shot had done its job. Wrestling free from her sheets, Mary quietly rose and shuffled to the bathroom. She could mask a quick phone call by running a shower, and she needed to talk to Marshall. Perched on the toilet lid while the shower warmed, Mary dialed before she could start thinking about last night.

"I woke you." His voice was low, a concession to her newly awakened state.

"It could've been Sheryl." She wasn't up to more than simple sentences yet.

"And here I was hoping you just wanted to hear the sound of my melodious voice," he teased.

"So trite, so early. Jesus, Marshall, let me connect a brain cell or two," Mary sighed, irritated that the sound of his voice had evoked a more visceral response than she had expected. Decided to get right to business. "What do I need to know for Stan?"

His quiet chuckle made her wish she could see him. "And to think I'd been missing your usual morning chit-chat."

"Along with my usual boot in your ass?" she replied. "Info, numbnuts, and keep if far from fancy." Her hair was starting to curl along the ends as the warm shower steamed up the bathroom, and as it tickled her neck she could only remember the feel of Marshall's breath as he whispered encouragement in her ear… Mary reached into the shower to turn the water to cold as her partner started speaking.

"He was running some checks on Platte, the field operations director, and Taliswell's replacement, Hardison. I can get that info from him later. Nothing that should impact us right here right now, but I don't want to run the protective gauntlet again when this is done." He paused and pulled the phone away to shout a quick answer to some distant question. Apologized to her quickly and continued.

"I also want him to run three more names through LInX with any possible aliases: Tim McCallen, Juan Alvarez and Jack Petrino. They're hitting my filters…too old, too young, too ugly, too dumb."

"Thank you, Dr. Seuss," she chuckled. "He's already looking at Eliot, I'll update him on the extracurriculars, and I'll add Sophie and Diane to our watch list. Diane just because I'm feeling a bit proprietary about your belt buckle. The least I can do is get her flagged by the TSA."

Marshall snorted quietly, then paused before replying, "Please tell me Raphael went back to the Domincan Republic voluntarily."

"Oh, for chrissake," she muttered, refocusing on the facts. "I'll verify extraction time and place for the witness. Still waiting to hear whether that will be during, or after, the bust." She furrowed her brow with another thought. "Where will you be?"

He sighed. "It seems my athletic prowess and cowboy know-how have earned me a place as a team leader for tomorrow's roundup. I'm not sure if I'll be able to wiggle my way out of that without raising too many eyebrows. Count on me being at Redpoint during the action. You going to be okay with a one-on-one?"

"It's a one-on-three, actually, but, yeah, I'll be good. Taliswell promised us a man, and I'll ask Stan to drop someone in town in case I need a back-up. You're the one who needs to keep his head down. Try not to let a trigger happy rookie catch you in the ass." She inspected a finger and began to ravage a cuticle while pondering this adaptation of plans. "Better yet, just keep your ass out of the way, I doubt they want extras in their shot."

Marshall chuckled. "I plan on enjoying the show from a strategic vantage point. No need to be seen." He paused for a moment. "I may not see you today."

She almost responded with a flip insult, but there was an underlying hesitancy in his statement that had her reconsider; mentally reinterpret. He was telling her he would miss her. She wasn't sure how to respond. How to express the same sentiment without giving herself away.

"I know," she said softly. "Go wrangle something, Cowboy."

He signed off, and Mary continued to sit, tapping the phone against her lips as her mind replayed foreign words murmured in a dark stall. His offer remained the same – would always remain the same, she knew – but she hadn't realized her acceptance would leave her this exposed, emotional nerve endings nearly begging for protection. She truly hoped she'd be able to keep from flinching.

/\/\/\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\/\/\

Brad glanced out the open window as he heard the dogs barking, pulse picking up slightly. He was jumpy. Just knowing Garcia was headed his way was enough to prompt him to lock himself in his office after lunch in order to make sure he had all bases covered for tomorrow's buy. He wouldn't put it past the brothers to make an early appearance, thus the open window. Cattle dogs were very vocal about any new arrivals. A local delivery van pulled up to the receiving doors, and Brad let out the breath he had been holding as he turned back to the task at hand. Shredding evidence.

Ten minutes later he was poking at a jammed shredder when a knock at the door startled him. He glanced at the clock. Carter. He had told the man to meet him here at one. Brad called him in and told him to shut the door. Carter held a number of files in his hand as he scowled at his boss.

"What did you find?" Brad asked, curious as to whether the people he had asked Carter to investigate resulted in anything interesting.

"Too much." Carter tossed the files on the desk and shrugged. "Not enough."

Brad flipped through the files quickly as Carter helped himself to a cold water from the mini-fridge and eased into a chair. He gave Brad a few more minutes to peruse the info before speaking.

"Eliot Sweeney was easy. He is who he says he is. Dangerous, yes. But only in the physical sense. No threat to the operation that I could find, even with the special forces background. He's squeaky. But…" he hesitated and Brad looked up with raised brows.

"But what?"

Carter took his hat off and scratched his head. "Not my place, but I'd leave the thing with him and Sheryl alone. He carries a lot of loyalty with the boys…a lot. Anything messy is going to stir up a fucking hornet's nest around here."

Brad clenched his jaw and stared at Carter for a few heartbeats before replying. "We'll come back to that. Who's next."

"There were only two that were interesting: Juan Alvarez and Marshall Miller. Both have big gaps in employment records where they seem to have vanished, and both have worked in Mexico. Alvarez also has a record." Carter took another drink of water as he studied Brad's tense posture. "What the hell are you looking at these guys for, Brad? I can tell you from working out there with them that they are who they seem. And if they're not, they're too good to get caught, so what's the point? Even if we id a threat right now, what the fuck good will it do us? The buy's going down…especially with Jaime as a guest."

Brad rolled his head on his neck and closed his eyes. "Something's just not right. I got a feel of it. Like catching a shadow out of the corner of your eye, then when you look, it's gone." He opened his eyes to watch his second-in-command closely. "The feeling you get when you know your girlfriend is fucking your best friend, but you just can't prove it."

Carter narrowed his eyes as he stared back. "That girl hit you harder than you thought, boss. Scrambled your brains a little bit. I'd hate to think I have to worry about that."

The clocked ticked into the terse silence while the two men stared at each other. Finally, Brad flared his nostrils with a deep breath as he sat back in the chair and closed the files. Carter may be out to replace him, but it wasn't going to be this time. He tapped at the closed files with his question.

"Where do you have these three tomorrow?"

"Miller and Sweeney are both leaders, and Alvarez is on the loading docks. With him there, there won't be any trouble with the girls." Carter finished his water as Brad stared down at the files. Waiting. Finally, the man stood and moved to the window, sliding it shut before jamming his hands in his pocket. Carter had to sit forward to hear his words.

"I will not look like a fool when this goes down. You understand that?" Brad turned his head far enough to catch Carter's eye. "I will not have anyone ruin this. No one." He saw the younger man stiffen slightly and grow suspicious.

Brad continued, "Once they're all off on the hunt, I want you to make a visit to my dear sister-in-law. I believe her rental contract is up."

Carter grinned mirthlessly. "Toss her ass to the curb?" His grin faltered and died as he saw the flat look in Brad's eyes. "Shit, Brad, what are you asking? Taking Parker out was one thing, but…"

Brad turned back to look out the window, mind made up. "Make it look like she packed up and walked. It's not like it should be hard…there's forty square miles of desert to get lost in."

Taking a deep breath, Carter rubbed his sweaty hands on his pants. "What about the kids?"

"I don't see any momma in the world leaving her kids behind in a situation like this," Brad drawled, turning to look at the other man again. "Do you?"

"Whoa, wait a goddamned minute - " Carter's protest was cut short.

"Alvarez would do it."

Brad's statement had Carter clenching his jaw in frustration. He lurched to his feet and grabbed his hat off the table while he reached for the door, wrenching it open with controlled frustration. He paused in the open doorway for a moment with his back to Brad, then rolled his shoulders and turned to stomp down the hall.

Brad stared after him with a satisfied grunt.

/\/\/\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\/\/\/

The text had arrived silently sometime after lunch, an imperative that demanded a response.

_Dubois is too close. Rumors of a coup. Weed him out._

A long sigh accompanied the movements of deft fingers over the keys. The timing of the drop was set. All the gardening would have to be done during a very tight window of opportunity in order to avoid a suspicious absence. It was the best kind of challenge.

_Understood. Landscaping fees apply._

The phone closed with a click. There was a lot of sun left in the day. Plenty of time to attend to details…and plan.


	21. Black Sut Beck

_**Tuco:** _ _**You never had a rope around your neck. Well, I'm going to tell you something. When that rope starts to pull tight, you can feel the Devil bite your ass.** _

_**-** _ _The Good, The Bad and The Ugly_

_-o-o-o-_

_**Jill:** _ _**What's he waiting for out there? What's he doing?** _

_**Cheyenne:** _ _**He's whittlin' on a piece of wood. I've got a feeling when he stops whittlin'... Somethin's gonna happen.** _

_**-** _ _Once Upon a Time in the West_

* * *

Marshall held the take-out containers from the Golden Dragon restaurant at shoulder height as the group of dirty and disheveled pre-teen boys dodged around him while they chased each other through the lobby of the hotel. Apparently a soccer team come to town for some competition, their matching jerseys and loose hanging shin guards wore clods of dirt and grass stains that advertised neither victory nor defeat, just a long day's play. At that age, their high spirits were more likely due to an anticipated visit to the hotel's indoor water park than to a winning score. He smiled as he thought of his own dusty state; hat brim stiff with dried sweat and dirt ground into his knuckles. Had he brought along a pair of swim trunks, he wouldn't have minded a few slow laps around the Lazy River himself.

The wranglers and cowhands had been released for the night after dinner, management knowing the younger men needed a night to blow off steam before the round-up the next day, and the older men just wanted some downtime. Most had headed into town for the local bar scene, but some elected for a chance to head north out of town to the gun range or dirt bike tracks. Marshall had looked for Eliot at first, hoping to engage the man in some conversation over a drink, but he had made himself scarce; likely at Sheryl's for the night…just as likely not.

The younger man had been uncharacteristically irritable all day, throwing himself into the fence work and brushing off any attempts at small talk. He had left the group towards late afternoon without explanation and Marshall hadn't seen him since. Though not odd enough to mention to Stan and Mary, the wrangler's absence was noted on the marshal's mental spreadsheet of characters. Marshall really didn't want to think Eliot was involved other than occupying Sheryl's bed, the man seemingly of sound moral mind, but he had learned his lesson long ago when dealing with professionals; if it's got teeth, it can bite you…no matter how hard the tail wags.

Jostled again by adolescent exuberance, Marshall veered to the left towards the stairs instead of fighting the boisterous crowd at the elevators. The ICE agents had picked a more centrally located and populated hotel for their surveillance this time around, thinking anonymity would be better attained by the sheer volume of guests. Though the population in the lobby was far from 'throngs,' Marshall could appreciate the distraction from his own entrance; front desk busy with check-ins, and any housekeeping personnel left rolling their eyes and hoping an early curfew was imposed upon the younger guests. Perfect.

He shouldered his way through the doors and took the stairs two at a time to the third floor. The hallway was quiet and cool, and he transferred the bags to his left arm in order to dig his badge out of his front pocket before knocking. Identifying himself softly, Marshall patiently waited as he was undoubtedly scrutinized from the other side of the peep-hole, both agencies extra cautious. The door was unlatched, and he pushed through slowly. Agent Hardison kept one hand on his weapon as he closed the door behind the marshal, his greeting more friendly once the man was in the room.

"I'm really hoping that food is genuine and not just a prop. I'm starving here," the ICE agent whined.

Marshall chuckled as he placed the bags on the table. "I once filled a take-out bag with sand as a prop during a stakeout." He pulled white containers of various sizes out of the larger bag.

Hardison raised his eyebrows expectedly. "And?"

Marshall looked over at him with a grimace. "You'll note the usage of the word 'once.' I was afraid to open my desk drawers for a month after that." He handed Hardison a pair of chopsticks. "Hell hath no fury like a woman denied her wontons."

The agent smiled politely, puzzled, but accepted the utensils and helped himself to some bins. The two men exchanged more professional information, Marshall specifically inquiring as to the "electrical work" Hardison had completed at the Redpoint barn a few days prior, and the foodstuffs were steadily consumed. Finally full, Marshall sat back as Hardison moved over to the desk to tweak some of the surveillance equipment.

"I can see the interior of the west wing of the main barn at Redpoint, including the loading ramp extending off the west wall. I had limited time to place any cameras, and an audience, so I had to choose key vantage points." He typed a few commands and the laptop screen showed four views at once. "In addition to the ramp, I can see the entrance from the corral, the approach to the barn from the south and the door to the manager's office." He pointed to each window, and Marshall pulled a chair over for a closer view.

"So all the intel points towards the women being held at this location?" Marshall asked, studying the screen.

Hardison nodded and reached over to snag a file folder off the bed. "The info from your girl is really the only thing we have to go on for the location of the human cargo. That point in the river isn't close to anything except the Redpoint area, and no one thinks Brad is stupid enough to parade that sort of commodity through miles of desert scrub just for a refreshing dip. They have to be holding the women close to that barn…or in it."

Marshall drummed his fingers on the desk in thought. "I've been out to that barn. Seen the corral and a few of the sheds. There was no sign of activity other than the four legged kind. You'd think there would be some sign of human presence, captive or not, if they were anywhere near that barn. Even if you keep them locked up in one place, you've got to bring in basic supplies and get rid of waste. Keep it relatively clean or it'll stink…and the animals would find it." He squinted at a map the agent handed to him.

"See this group of mesas right behind the sheds here?" Hardison ran his finger along the features on the topo map. "The Indians dug a lot of tunnels in this whole region. Grain storage, stock pens, hideouts during the wars…Point is, there's a lot of gopher runs behind that barn, and we're nearly certain the women are being kept back in there." He sat back with a sigh. "'Nearly,' because we can't get anyone in there to search, and the GIS gurus have nothing to ping. Contrary to popular belief, Google Earth is _not_ all seeing."

Marshall raised his eyebrows with a grunt. "Your cameras don't have GPS dots? Can't the satellites use those to triangulate a grid?"

Hardison looked at him appraisingly. "A geek in the marshals' service? I thought you guys were all six-shooters and battering rams."

"You've met my partner, then?" Marshall quipped, turning his attention back to the maps. "She gets testy if I get in her way, so I earn my keep with the intellectual clean-up while she kicks down the doors."

"Right," the agent muttered. "Moving on." He handed Marshall a few more pages from the file. "There are cattle trucks at the barn once a month, and a smaller supply truck from the main lodge delivers once a week. The cattle trucks are what we're interested in. Forensic accountants have done their magic on the Circle R financials, and those cattle deliveries seem to be the cash cow…so to speak."

"Brad's laundering the smuggling payments through the stock accounts?"

"Lather, rinse, repeat," Hardison joked. "He's careful, but not careful enough. If he had never gotten involved with the major league players, no one ever would've noticed, but once the Sancristos were onboard he got greedy. The larger deposits triggered FDIC alerts and the guv'mint took an interest."

"How'd you wrestle this away from Treasury?" Marshall asked as he continued to study the pages.

"It reeks of Cartel…and the treasury boys don't like to step in that shit. They were only too happy to let us run the show." The agent rose to walk over and adjust the air conditioning. "Once we started digging, the stench wafted across the street. Now that there's also human transportation during these deliveries, the FBI's waiting for their scraps, and Secret Service will scrounge for anything they can claim as their own. Treasury will get a piece in the end, guaranteed."

Marshall took a deep breath as he placed all the pages back into the folder, satisfied with what he had seen. "Well, all we want is the girl," he drawled, smiling. "Hand her over peacefully and no one gets hurt."

Hardison shook his head sadly and the men shared a chuckle until interrupted by a chime from another laptop. Hardison reached over to tap the mousepad a few times as Marshall rose to peer around him at the screen. The agent explained the view.

"The main parking lot at the ranch." He zoomed in on the arrival vehicle. "A late night visitor. Odd."

Marshall swallowed a small lump in his throat. He didn't think the dark windowed Mercedes transported an errant guest or extra cowhand. A driver exited and opened a rear door for his passenger.

Hardison leaned forward and sucked air through his teeth. "Oh man…is that…?" A few more camera adjustments and he sat back and slapped the desk. "Dammit."

"What?" Marshall demanded.

Hardison was rubbing the bridge of his nose as he thought. "That's Jaime Sancristo. The younger of the two brothers. Shit. What the fuck is he doing here?" After a moment, the agent finally decided on some action and snagged a headset to attach to his ear. He connected his phone to the computer and used a few more devices to hastily set up a relay station.

Marshall watched the screen as the other man muttered and swore, and as the driver popped the truck to pull out a bag the lump became a solid mass of apprehension. Mary's words of prophetic wisdom came back to him as Hardison handed him an extra headset.

"To quote my partner," Marshall said, adjusting the ear piece, "This just gets better and better."

/\/\/\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\/\/\/

Mary pulled on her second boot just as Diane came through the door. Offering a quick greeting to her roommate, she grabbed her jacket and shoved one arm into a sleeve.

"I don't think you'll need the jacket," Diane offered. "It's still pretty warm." She tossed a towel and iPod onto her own bed, having obviously returned from the pool, and looked Mary up and down.

"Hot date? Do tell!" Flopping onto the mattress, Diane looked at her expectantly, one foot bouncing to some internal beat.

Mary tossed the jacket back onto the chair and tucked her phone into her pocket while glaring at Diane. "Are you sure you left any men for the rest of us?"

Diane just chuckled and smiled wider. "Spoil sport. Finders keepers, you know…early bird gets the worm and all that. All those years of getting up at the crack of dawn have taught me something."

"That hoof and mouth disease can be an STD?" Mary muttered around her hair band as she raked her hair into a ponytail.

The other woman raised her eyebrows as her smile fell. "Wow. I'm guessing not a hot date then?"

Mary heard the hurt the Diane's voice and realized she had fallen too far out of her character. Mary Shannon was expected to cut to the bone. Mary Shepherd wasn't quite as sharpened, and Diane hadn't actually done anything to deserve her ire. Sighing loudly, Mary arranged her face into a rueful grin and looked at her roomie.

"Sorry. I'm just…" She shrugged and patted her phone in her pocket. "The ex is having a crisis and has managed to loop me into his spiral of insanity. I need to make a few calls to straighten it out before he ends up in jail."

Diane nodded in understanding as she swung her legs back off the bed. "You're too damn nice, Mary. I'd let him hang himself. But I get it." She began to gather toiletries on her way to the bathroom. "Now don't stay out too late, young lady. We have cowboys to ogle bright and early."

Mary barked a laugh on the way out. "Whatever."

-o-o-o-

The night was warm, stars sprinkled across the sky slightly blurred by a high, thin layer of clouds that looked as though they were brushed onto the firmament by some celestial artist. Marshall had tugged on her ponytail when he named them for her the first time so long ago.

" _Mare's tails," he said, pointing at the wispy objects of interest as they sat outside the gelato shop in Albuquerque._

_Mary swatted at his hand at the back of her head. "Keep your hands to yourself, pervis. And don't call me 'Mare.'"_

" _The cloud name refers to a horse," he chuckled, "and nicknames have been around since the 1300s. Historically they conveyed a level of acceptance into a society and were chosen as almost a ceremonial rite of passage. The shortening of one's name by those close to them should be considered an outward extension of trust, and usually the nickname is an affectionate personification of their character." Marshall spooned jalepeño gelato into his mouth with a hummed appreciation while Mary glared at him._

" _So you think of me as a horse?" she challenged, her own bowl of frozen treat melting in neglect._

 _He rolled his eyes over to peer at her. "You_ did _kick me in the thigh last week when I startled you." Smiling, he indicated her bowl with his spoon. "Eat your gelato. We have to go see Tony after this."_

_His distraction technique worked, as usual, and the thought of visiting his smarmy witness had her curling her lip and viscously attacking the gelato._

_She never forgot the name of those clouds._

Mary chuckled to herself as she wound her way past the cabins and towards the copse of trees near the playground. Fitting justice that she was now riding a mount named Marshal. Her mirth slowly gave way to the warmth of remembered desire with the memory of Marshall's hands on her hair. She nibbled at her bottom lip while recalling the sensation of his fingers on her scalp…the way he tugged her head gently sideways in order to suckle her neck as he slid inside her…She reached up to gently rub the marks he had left on her neck hidden by the collar of her shirt. A roughness she had found surprising, but incredibly arousing.

She growled in frustration and shook herself free of a reverie that would only increase her irritation as base needs would not be met. The object of her desire, however, was soon to be within her grasp, and Mary had to consciously quell the tingle of excitement in her gut. _Down, girl._ Marshall had texted her the plan for the meet-up right before Diane had returned, and they both knew it was going to have to be a quick exchange of info…nothing more. Mary's cover story for her roommate wouldn't hold up if she returned reeking of sex.

-o-o-o-

Marshall leaned back against one of the cottonwoods in the small wooded area and let his head fall back on the rough bark. Other than the murmurings of frogs near the creek, the silence of the ranch at night was only punctuated by a random chirp of a cricket and even more infrequent hoot of a distant owl. The winds from the day prior had given way to the quiet air of a strong high pressure system that had settled over the area, and Marshall was confident he would hear any approach or disturbance within the stillness. He had wandered through the barn and ranch house before ambling towards the trees to make sure all hands were either in bed or still out on the town. It was quiet. It was safe. And now he couldn't help but smile in anticipation of seeing his partner.

He had awoken twice the night before, his dreams full of sultry sighs and visions of smooth pale curves revealed to him in the moonlight. He could still taste her, and the dreams only enhanced his senses…urged him to trail kisses down her abdomen, over her thighs, his mouth covering her while she gasped his name and moaned for more. Marshall grunted and shifted position, his current situation only marginally better than being stuck in an occupied bunkhouse with a raging hard-on. Not much he could do about it either way, and he hardly thought a quickie in the bushes was acceptable behavior on an undercover op. As though a quickie in the barn was any more appropriate.

His internal sexual ethics debate was cut short by the sound of approaching footsteps. He recognized Mary's gait and relaxed back against the tree. She ducked through the low hanging branches a few moments later and walked over to stand in front of him with her hands tucked into her pockets. Unsure. Marginally defensive. Marshall decided to dive right in with business.

"Jaime Sancristo is here at the ranch. Arrived about two hours ago and settled right in. Looks like he's bunking in the main lodge." He watched Mary's posture stiffen and she looked around warily.

"That's the younger Garcia, right?" she asked, and he nodded. She reached up to rub her forehead. "So the snake's in the cage with the rat now. What prompted that, do you think? Do you think the Garcias have been tipped off to the operation? Do we need to move Sheryl sooner?" She peered at him from underneath her palm.

Marshall sucked air through his teeth as he pondered her questions. "Hardison doesn't seem to think the visit is anything more than precautionary. The undercovers haven't picked up any chatter about fed involvement, no change of schedules have been noted, and Brad's still alive." He pulled a twig off the tree trunk. "I think the usual paranoia amongst thieves has just prompted Lúcho to take out some insurance. The only one interested in Sheryl right now is Brad."

"Not comforting, Marshall," she huffed. Finally settling a hip onto a nearby stump, Mary appeared to relax into the conversation.

"Stan finally got back to me with the info on all our suspects. Nothing. Nada," she said. "Either we're incredibly gullible, or the Zeta is good enough to fly under our radar. And if that last part is true, we're not going to track them down until the deed is done. I think if we pull Sheryl out right before the buy goes down we'll avoid any contact with them anyway. The 'who' and 'where' isn't our problem. Let the glamour boys deal with wolves in sheep's clothing."

Marshall chuckled as he remembered Hardison's similar agency comparison. "To that end, they're agreeable." The twig crumbled in his hand as he twirled it, and he brushed the pieces off his pants while pushing off the trunk to slowly pace. "I'm definitely not going to be here to help you get Sheryl out. The task force knows the buy is going down right before the drive reaches Redpoint. They suspect Brad will stash the merchandise, then load the girls into the cattle trucks while the rest of us are dealing with the actual cattle and guests. By the time they actually load the cows, it's all over and done. Hardison's team needs a man present prior to the buy, and I'm it."

Mary crossed her arms and stared into the night for a long minute. Finally, she shifted her gaze to meet his. Serious. "I don't like it. You've got no communication…no back-up if you're made before there are men at the scene."

He was quick to reassure her. "Hardison stashed an ear piece at the barn. I'll grab it when I get there and be in communication. I'm observing, that's it. Maybe help chase down a rabbit if I get lucky. They just need the inside eyes and ears." She tossed her head, dissatisfied, and he stepped over to stand in front of her. "I promise to emerge ass cheeks intact."

She grinned for a fleeting moment, then fell back into seriousness, still ruminating on the plan. "For chrissake, James Bond. Be careful."

"I will," he said softly. "I expect similar efforts from you."

She snorted quietly. "All I need to do is get picked up for lunch with a friend in tow. I'll set a time with Sheryl tomorrow morning. All the players are going to be otherwise occupied and the ranch will be on skeleton personnel. No one will know the difference, and I'll be back in Albuquerque before you're finished cleaning out your bunk."

She looked at him expectantly, and Marshall watched the shadows from the branches play across her face. A swell of protectiveness washed over him and he couldn't help but to reach out and trace and gentle finger along her jaw. "And when I get back…we'll talk?"

"Jesus, Marshall," she sighed, dropping her gaze. "What do we need to talk about? Please don't tell me you're one of those guys that has to map out every moment of a relationship in power point slides?" She squinted back up at him then reached out to grab a fistful of his shirt and pull him closer. "Let's keep it simple."

She stretched up to cover his lips with her own, tasting and teasing until he moaned and gripped her ribs with both hands to steady himself. Her tongue slid along his teeth as her hands crawled upwards to capture his face, and Marshall started to re-think that quickie. The woman in his arms was warm, willing and bringing him to full attention faster than he thought possible. He slid one hand down to cup her ass and Mary smiled against his mouth before releasing him from the kiss.

"You like that?" she whispered, her lips still brushing his and her hips gently teasing his jeans. She nipped at his bottom lip, but wouldn't let him resume the kiss. Playing.

Marshall retaliated by gripping the back of her head and moving his attention to her jawline and throat. She hummed in pleasure and pressed against him and he smiled. Buried his nose in her hair and nibbled on an ear with a murmured response, "I do. Very much. And I think you do too."

Mary shivered, all senses aching for more pleasure. "Then let's do _that_ when you get back home. You can talk all you want once you're naked."

His jeans became impossibly tighter at her words, and Marshall pulled her against him firmly, kissing her fiercely with increased arousal. She was the only woman who could make him nearly lose his senses, and his finesse, with mere words. Her fingers twined into his hair and she tugged his head back, both breathing heavily into the night air as she pulled away.

"Whoa, Cowboy." Her smile belied any concern. "I'm not doing boots-down-ass-in-the-air two nights in a row." She trailed her fingers down to his belt buckle and Marshall saw stars. "And we're a little old for blow jobs on the playground."

"I'm not too old," he replied shakily, hopeful as her hand dipped lower and stroked him once.

She chuckled and stopped teasing him, instead reaching up to brush a piece of hair off his forehead, surprising him with her tenderness. "I gotta go. I don't need a suspicious roommate."

He squeezed her hip and released her, understanding the moment needed to pass. The focus needed to return to the present, and future events would have to be fantasized about in the darkness of his room for now. She stepped away from him and turned to leave; turned back with a worried frown.

"I'm serious, Marshall. Watch yourself. I have a bad feeling."

He watched her disappear into the shadows, taking with her his nod of assurance and his own words of warning. The moon slid behind a thicker cloud and the grove darkened ominously. Shaking off a shiver of dread, Marshall squared his shoulders and headed towards his own destination. The players were in place, and he and Mary were well removed from the action. Ancillary at best, accessories at the worst. The operation was nearly over. _One more day._


	22. George Selridge

_**"I realize now that I have been wrong. All this time, I have been waiting. Waiting for what? For someone to find me? For Indians to take my horse? To see a buffalo? Since I arrived at this post I have been walking on eggs. It has become a bad habit, and I am sick of it. Tomorrow I will ride out to the Indians. I don't know the outcome, or the wisdom of this thinking, but I have become a target. And a target makes a poor impression. I am through waiting."** _

_– Dances with Wolves_

_-o-o-o-_

_**"Too bad you have to die..."** _

_– For a Few Dollars More_

* * *

Sheryl wiped a sweaty forearm across an equally sweaty forehead as she reached over the dryer to push the start button. The heat was back, it seemed, and even in the early morning hours the laundry room temperature had climbed into uncomfortable. The small fan in the doorway couldn't keep up with the multiple loads of linens in the industrial sized machines, and Sheryl stepped out into the cool shade of the overhang in hopes of catching the breeze. Twisting off the top of the water bottle she kept in her small backpack, she thought about the women who were now starting to rise in their small cabins. The great thing about female guests was that they tended towards cleanliness. The bad thing about female guests was that they tended towards cleanliness. Most of them were taking at least two showers a day, and that led to a larger than normal towel load, not to mention the bed sheets that also suffered from the additional layers of dirt and grime.

It was a dirty life, ranching, and she wondered at the passion demonstrated day after day by the men bunking in the buildings across the corral. The drive that jolted them from bed well before dawn most mornings but still left them laughing and content long after the sun set later the same day. Wondered at the joy it seemed to bring them. Wondered what would bring her the same joy and satisfaction.

She let another cool drink slide down her throat as thoughts of her future tried, and failed, to coalesce in her mind. Tomorrow she would not rise in the wee hours of the morning to dust and vacuum and schlep dirty linens around stuffy sheds. She'd no longer walk down a dusty road with shades of reluctance in every step and the shadow of fear lurking behind dark doorways. Tomorrow she would be free of this place…and that terrified her.

Further thoughts of her nebulous doom were interrupted by the chirp of her cell phone in her pocket. Frowning, she pulled it out to check the caller ID, and a little spark of adrenaline shot through her system when she recognized the number. A number she had programmed in one week ago with trembling fingers and furtive glances around her dimly lit kitchen. Salvation.

"Hello?" she spoke softly, afraid of being overheard by…no one…anyone. Then remembered to identify herself. "This is Sheryl."

"Sheryl, this is Inspector Shannon. Since you answered my call I'm assuming you're still accepting the offer for witness protection?"

The woman's voice was familiar, and Sheryl furrowed her brow as she tried to recall a face to match the voice. There were too many left after obvious eliminations. And, truly, at this point it didn't really matter.

"Yes. I still want protection for my testimony. Although I don't know how much it could possibly help. I don't know that much." She closed her eyes in frustration at her own attempt to negate the deal. _Don't back out now_. She felt sick to her stomach.

"You obviously know enough to piss off the wrong people, and that's enough for us." The woman's voice echoed slightly, and Sheryl wondered if she was in the bathroom. Hiding out, just like herself. A shaky chuckle escaped, and she put a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound as the inspector continued to speak.

"We're going to get you out today while the task force is making the bust. That will be the safest option for you as the major players will be occupied and the attention will be anywhere but here. Will you have a problem getting back to your apartment by midday?"

Sheryl shook her head, then remembered to speak around the lump in her throat. "No. I'm usually asleep then anyway, so no one will miss me." The sentence ended in a whisper as she was flooded with a memory of Eliot's soft kisses as he slid out of her bed only hours earlier.

 _Oh god...Eliot_. She hadn't told him. Hadn't revealed her ultimate secret. She hadn't wanted to face the hurt in his eyes…accusations of betrayal or selfishness he could potentially hurl her way. It was better this way. Better to just…disappear.

The marshal was talking again and Sheryl concentrated on the voice. "…meet you at your apartment between noon and one p.m. Please be ready to leave. You're only to take a change of clothes for two days of travel. No pictures, no momentos…nothing that can connect you to your life here. If you're unsure about an item, leave it behind. Do you understand?"

"Tyler has a stuffed bear he needs…" Sheryl bit her lip. There was a pause before she heard an answer.

"He can bring that. But just that."

"Okay." The marshal asked her to repeat the instructions. Her own recitation sounded odd to herself. Small. Timid.

"Sheryl," the woman's voice softened. "You're going to be okay. Your kids are going to be okay. Just follow the plan. We're almost there." A pause as she let the words take root. "I need to go now."

Sheryl echoed the goodbye and snapped the phone shut. A breeze floated through the trees to tease the hair on the back of her neck, carrying with it the scent of manure and sweet hay. Morning. Her eyes wandered back to the men now exiting the bunkhouse and heading to the barns. A new day. A fresh start. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders as she turned back to the laundry room. It was her turn now.

-o-o-

Two hours later, Sheryl stood in the doorway of the main kitchen and looked out upon the guests finishing breakfast in the dining room. Most were clearing their places, rising with grins and the occasional groan, greeting those who remained over one more cup of coffee as they passed by. She was trying to listen. Trying to pick out voices above the drone of simultaneous conversation in an attempt to identify the woman caller. She thought she had caught it once or twice, but was never able to follow the audio trail to the speaker. There were only a handful who still had her notice. Those who fit her ideas of requirements for a U.S. Marshal. Age. Physical fitness. General aura of toughness she would expect. They all sat at the same table.

Sheryl watched as Diane laughed loudly at some joke, joined by Cat and Gina. The other women – Mary, Sophie and Lisa – only grinned as they continued their own conversation. They all seemed watchful, or at least she thought so. Probably a perceived projection of her own guarded existence at this point.

Mary finally rose, initiating a domino effect along the table, and soon the six were emptying their trays into the trash bins by the door. A group with unreadable dynamics, but as Mary and Sophie exited the room, Diane stood back to watch them with a frown. She looked towards the kitchen after a moment, caught Sheryl watching her and grinned with a wink. Then she, too, was gone. Odd. Maybe.

Sheryl grunted with frustration and glanced at the clock. Thirty minutes and she could head home to wait. Her gut churned.

/\/\/\/\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\/\/\/\

Marshall could feel it now. That unwelcome sense of foreboding that was only a tentative wisp this morning had now permeated the air until he could almost feel it as an oily coating on his skin. He rubbed the palms of his hands against his jeans reflexively, his gaze again darting around the barn environs as he counted ranch hands and riders. Everyone who was anyone on his list was accounted for, each involved in activities necessary for gearing up, and there was nothing untoward or out of place. Just a bustling ranch and its eager participants stirring up the dust and anticipation for the day. But still…

Busying himself with the saddle fastenings on one of the pack horses, he listened to the conversations around him.

"…twenty ranch hands and six lead wranglers. That'll give us two main groups with eight women each…" Carter instructed one of the cooks as they walked towards the main lodge. Logistics for the kitchen crew that Marshall knew too well would change before the day was over.

"…after tonight, she'll beg you to saddle her up!" Laughter from a group of the younger men as they teased a newbie.

"…don't know if it was the eggs or the potatoes, but something's not sitting well." One of the women. Marshall glanced towards the voice: Sophie. Diane sidled up to her. "Once you get going, Soph, all that cowboy ass in your view will distract you from your ills. C'mon, we're not going to miss this." Sophie laughed at the redhead's antics and they continued walking.

He continued to listen to more of the same for a few more minutes then straightened with a disappointed sigh. No whispered sniper plots or revelations as to the location of the girls…just the normal and expected for all present. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to see Mary approaching with Marshal in tow. His lips quirked in amusement as the horse's saddle sat crookedly on its back.

"Need me to tighten that up for you?" he asked as she stood before him.

"What are you talking about?" Mary assessed him with her patented glare. He gestured at the saddle and she snorted. "I'm not actually going to ride the dumb beast, idiot."

Marshall squinted at her quizzically for a moment before his eyebrows shot up in understanding. "Ah. Yes. The public conversation that sets up our plausible deniability in a suitable scene that everyone will recall later. You deride me in your typical unwarranted antagonistic approach, I pretend to be offended and attempt explanation, and you insult my manhood and stomp off in the opposite direction. Right?"

"You forgot the part where you whine like a girl," Mary replied.

"Does that come before or after your language peels the paint off the walls?"

Mary placed a hand on her hip and regarded him curiously. "Worried?" Her tone had softened.

She must have heard the tension in his voice. Marshall rolled his shoulders and closed his eyes for a brief moment. He wanted her with him today. Needed this one person who could read his emotions from a simple sentence. Finally, he opened his eyes and looked down at her; studied the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose before replying.

"It's a feeling. Probably the same one you had last night."

"Still got it this morning, Nostradamus." She attempted a half smile and lowered her voice. "And Sheryl was all lookie-loo at breakfast. I don't think she picked me out, though."

Marshall thought about that as he moved closer to Mary and reached out to grab her mount's reins. Used the tight proximity to continue the conversation. "She's still on board?" Mary nodded and he continued, "Do you think she told Eliot?"

Mary shrugged, and they both looked in the direction of said wrangler as he helped two of the women adjust their tack. Eliot smiled and laughed, easily moving amongst the horses as he prepared his charges. Not the mannerisms of a man on edge…or one who had said his last goodbyes to a woman he cared for.

Marshall looked back at Mary as she sighed heavily, still staring at Eliot. "Gonna leave him high and dry."

"Maybe she didn't have the heart to drag him into it." Marshall's response drew her eyes back to him and he met her gaze. "Afraid to make him choose and have to hear his decision. It's hard to put all the cards on the table and then have someone walk away."

She swallowed, then dropped her gaze to the ground, and Marshall felt guilty for resurrecting a sore topic. The anxiety of the operation and precarious state of their witness was dragging him down to a petty level. He carefully slid his hand over hers where it gripped the bridle and hoped his unspoken apology was heard. She didn't pull away.

Mary rolled her lips between her teeth as she tossed her head and looked back up at him. "I'll give you that one today, Cowboy." Flashed him a smile and then stepped back to pull her phone out of her pocket. "Now I have to take a call from an inebriated ex-boyfriend who is threatening to light my house on fire so I have an excuse to retreat back to my cabin and miss the ride from hell."

"Be careful," he offered.

"See you tonight," she replied, turning quickly to walk away.

Her horse snorted and side-stepped as she brushed by its haunches, Mary already launching into a heated, one-sided discussion with her cell, and Marshall clicked his tongue to soothe the animal as he watched his partner stalk off. The small bubble of comfort she had brought with her quickly evaporated as she wound through the crowd in the corral and vanished from his line of sight. Names were now being called in order to organize the groups, and his gut resumed its battle with anxiety as he handed Marshal over to a stable boy and mounted up on Socrates.

"'As for me, all I know is that I know nothing.'" Marshall muttered, patting the horse's neck as they walked over to join their group.

-o-o-o-

Carter stood in the shadow of the main barn and watched the apparent chaos in the corral slowly sort itself into two groups of loosely organized parades. Wranglers led cowhands who were followed by guests, more cowhands and finally, pack animals. The dogs trotted and yipped around the edges, jostling into canine rank and file as they obeyed the whistles and shouts from the men. Carter had a brief vision of covered wagons lumbering along rutted dirt trails and he smiled with the comparison. Adventure awaited as the sun rose into the sky and spirits were still high. Grabbing at his hat as a gust of wind whirled through the doorway, he wondered how long it would be before the guests started to refer to the ride as the Trail of Tears. He snorted and shook his head as he turned to walk towards the main lodge. Tenderfeet. They never changed.

He stepped from shadow into sunlight as he trod across the gravel parking lot, the rocks beneath his feet sending up small puffs of dust as his heels dragged slightly; a lope acquired long before he quit wearing hand-me-down boots. Evaporative effects of direct sunlight on sweat moistened skin caused him to shiver, and adjusting his sunglasses, he quick stepped the last few yards to the lodge with thoughts of welcomed climate control and a cold beer. An hour or two to avoid thoughts of unpalatable duties that loomed by mid-day…so long as Brad remained distracted by Garcia.

The cry of a hawk had him pausing to squint into the pale blue sky. Two of them hunting in tandem: one swooping down to flush out prey while the other nabbed the moving target. The dumb animal would never see it coming. Poor bastard.

/\/\/\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\/\/\/\

Mary zipped the go-bag shut and glanced around the darkened room as she sank down upon the bed. Ready to go. She had received a text from Stan to let her know the extra marshal would meet her at Sheryl's house by 1:15, relayed that information to Marshall in her own text, then set about clearing the small cabin of her presence. Diane would probably think she… _actually, who the fuck cared what Diane thought_. Mary laid back against the headboard and laced her fingers together over her stomach as she thought of her roomie. Recalled the conversations at the breakfast table as they all talked about the round-up.

Once the topic of sweaty sex in the middle of the desert was exhausted, the women were mostly interested in the length of the ride, the quality of the food at the other end, and whether they'd actually have to chase down a wayward cow. Except Diane. Diane wanted to discuss logistics. Manpower. Who would be where and when. Mary wondered whether her assessment of the milk maid was prematurely benign.

The air conditioner rattled to life and she was pulled from her musings to check her phone again for the time. Figuring Sheryl would need some help and moral support to actually get out of the house, Mary planned to arrive by 12:45. She usually had to pull half the stuff out of the suitcases anyway, the phrase 'no momentos' apparently widely misinterpreted to mean everything but the kitchen sink.

Fifteen minutes. Closing her eyes, she began the mental countdown out of fantasy and into reality. Began to visualize the witness transport, the induction, and the inevitable struggle with multi-agency pissing contests. She could smell the burnt coffee and used toner aroma of the office and hear Marshall's chair squeak as he reached for a print-out, late afternoon sun slanting through the blinds to highlight every dust mote in the place. It was home. It was real…and she was ready to get back. To work…and to Marshall.

-o-o-o-o-

The riders in his group were spread out over a half mile, some ambling along lost in their own thoughts, others in social packs of two or three with things to talk about. It was another forty minutes or so to the main mesas where the herds were grazing, and everyone was prepped and full of purpose. They just needed to get there.

Marshall slowly led Socrates in a lazy circle as he eyeballed his team. Manuel was about a hundred yards back with a handful of chatty guests, there were cowhands on point and dispersed through the group, and Eliot was…Squinting into the sun, Marshall tried to find the man's silhouette against the rocks and low hills towards the back of the group. The wrangler had radioed him about a half hour prior saying there were a few stragglers he was going to encourage, but as Marshall now trotted up a low rise, he could see all were accounted for. Except Eliot.

The weight of the shotgun slung across his back was momentarily significant as Marshall swept his gaze along the trail of riders he bore partial responsibility for. Surely Eliot was among them. The sun burned hotter as he accepted the conclusion: no. The horse sidestepped restlessly as Marshall pulled the walkie talkie out and keyed it open.

"Manuel, Marshall. Where's Eliot?"

The response was fairly quick. "Rode to the back, but then we got a call from the other team about a sick rider that needed to head back. He said he'd meet up with them for a guide."

Marshall thought about that for a minute. The other team was five miles to the west as they headed to the north edges of the mesa. Was Eliot going to meet a cowhand and sick rider half way between to guide them back? It didn't seem plausible. He keyed the handheld again.

"Who called him?"

There was a longer pause this time. "I assumed it was Tuck. I didn't ask. We gotta problem?"

 _Definitely a problem_ , he thought. He rubbed the back of the soft leather glove against his chin as he contemplated his options. The task force needed him placed at Redpoint in one hour, and he had hoped to use the loosely organized riding patterns of the group to facilitate his absence, but it seemed that tactic had already been borrowed. Now he needed extra time to investigate the possibility that Eliot was somehow one step ahead of him. Or involved. There wasn't time for subtlety.

"We might have a glitch," Marshall replied. "I need you to take point lead and just hold off on questions right now. You got enough men?"

"Plenty." Manuel sounded puzzled. "You need one or two to go with you?"

Marshall had already plotted a course and turned Socrates towards the goal before answering. "Keep everyone moving. I got this."

/\/\/\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\/\/\/\

Though he had every reason to be in the main tack and equipment room, Carter kept looking over his shoulder as he gathered supplies for his mission. He never hesitated until he had to open the refrigerator. The plastic handle was smooth and cool and he stared at his own white knuckled grip. He didn't have to do this. He could just continue to run his small side action under Brad's nose, take his cut, and leave Sheryl to the mercy of her brother-in-law when it all fell out. Let Brad continue to dig his own grave with the Cartel while he groomed his own connections.

He sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. It would never work. He was in too deep with Brad, known too well by the Garcias, and if Brad ever went down he'd drag Carter right along with him. And if he backed out of this task…well…some archeologist would be digging up his bones in a few years, mixed in with pottery shards and owl pellets.

Pulling open the cooler door, he began to rationalize any moral objections into oblivion. There was always a chance Sheryl would survive his efforts, and he wasn't going to think about the kids. There werethree shelves full of chilled, glass vials, and he picked out two. Enough ketamine to down a horse…more than sufficient for three humans. He drew up one vial into a syringe, capped it and placed it in his shirt pocket. The other vial was stuffed deeply into the front pocket of his jeans. Just in case. An ember of sympathy still burned in his soul; no one needed to be awake for this.

Despite the heat of midday, he could still feel the chill from the refrigerator as he exited the barn with a small pack slung over his shoulder. Or maybe it was just the last remnants of decency leaving for greener pastures. He needed to get the hell out of here after this deal. Maybe head down to Las Cruces and join a different crew…or gather one of his own. It was time to stop doing the dirty work.

The Gator had a big enough bed over the back wheels to easily accommodate three bodies and plenty of camouflage. Setting into the grimy, yellow seat, Carter cranked the ATV to life and noisily vacated the barn in a cloud of dust and exhaust. A minute later a shadow detached itself from a doorway and stepped out to watch the man drive away. His destination was clear as the Gator turned onto the back road, and the shadow took off at a lope to follow. There was just enough time to trim the verge before the buy.

-o-o-o-

Mary slung her go-bag over her shoulder and checked the view from the cabin windows. Clear. She cracked open the door and listened before stepping out onto the porch. Other than the faint sound of a distant ATV and occasional call of horse or dog, the ranch seemed nearly deserted. It was time to go.

Breathing in deeply, she tried to appreciate the clean air, smell of pine and wood stove and faint aroma of lunch, but she was just too keyed up to want to do anything but snatch up her witness and leave. All hell would be breaking loose eight miles away in about an hour, and she wanted Sheryl and the kids eating lunch out of Styrofoam containers and watching TV in a hotel room by then. Far from trouble…far from here.

Her boots were quiet in the dirt and soft pine needles as she wound her way between the equipment sheds behind the guest cabins. She would approach Sheryl's apartment through the grassy field away from the road. There were enough ruts and ditches that she was confident her journey wouldn't be noted by anyone in the main kitchen or barns. Good enough. The half mile trek would take about ten minutes by her roundabout path; Mary checked her Glock and donned her sunglasses as she left the shade of the trees for the long grass.

-o-o-o-

Sheryl thought she might puke. The two bites of toast she had for breakfast surely still sat partially chewed in her stomach, effectively quashing any further hunger pangs. She was keyed up, stressed out and afraid. Add a dash of sibling squabbling and lack of sleep and her nerves were truly fried. She stood by the picture window in the family room and peeked discretely around the curtains. The only thing moving were the ripples of heat mirage along the barely paved road. The faint rumble of a train along tracks to the south blended with the rattle of the over worked air conditioning, and Sheryl briefly rested her forehead against the glass to gauge the outdoor temperature. Hot. The sun baked the little house, the scratched dirt yard with its scraggly cactus ball holding the mailbox captive, the faded upturned plastic table that now served as a man-made mud puddle…her life. Baked. Done.

She recalled seeing the old women on the reservation sitting on their blankets selling baskets and trinkets in the desert heat. Shriveled and wrinkled and older than the dirt they sat on. That's how she felt…how she had felt for too long. Older than her years, unfeeling and empty. This chance at a new life and the brief oasis of Eliot had only served to draw her attention to the deep grooves of unhappiness worn into her soul…into her children's souls…and as the clock ticked closer to the hour she was ready to jump out of her skin.

"Come on, already," she hissed, fogging up the glass.

"Mom!" Leanne's strident whine made her wince. "He's sitting by my suitcase again!"

A muffled denial preceded the sound of yet another struggle, and Sheryl whirled to stomp back towards the bedroom. The kids were supposed to be playing a game of Uno while they all waited for their 'ride to lunch.' Obviously, territorial lines had again been crossed. Curtly commanding them to cut it out, Sheryl had just reached the bathroom when there was a knock on the front door. She gasped, and her heart began to hammer in her throat. For a moment she was frozen in time: past, present and future beating each other senseless in a battle for dominance.

Another knock coupled with the ring of the doorbell, and her decision was made. Instructing the kids to stay put and be quiet, she trotted to the door. It was barely opened before she was trying to push it closed again. Yelling at the kids to close their door as she began to lose a battle of strength and her feet started to slip across the thin carpeting. He was coming in.

"Get out of here!" She yelped as she drove her full weight against the door yet again.

Carter growled and continued to shove her backwards, finally squeezing past the doorframe and snatching a hold of the woman's arm to pull her away from the door. He flung Sheryl in the direction of the kitchen and kicked the door shut with a foot, rattling the window and toppling the pictures on the side table with the force of his action.

 _He knew! Oh gods…he knew, he knew…he was going to kill her! The kids…_ Sheryl scrabbled frantically to her feet as she looked for a weapon to ward him off. She had to keep him from getting to the kids. Leanne was shouting from the bedroom, and Sheryl heard herself shouting back, not even knowing what she was saying. All she could see was the feral gleam in Carter's eyes as he cautiously approached her. She knew her cell phone rested on the kitchen table, but if she darted in to grab it she'd never have time to make a call before he was on her. And it would give him access to the hallway. No. Opting for a nimble escape through the front door was also off the list. He was too fast, and there was no way she was leaving him in this house.

Grabbing a snow globe from the shelves next to her, Sheryl threw it at Carter's face in desperation. The missile clipped his cheek and his expression only darkened. She reached for the next object as he lunged.

"Fucking bitch!"

Her scream was muffled by his chest as they tumbled into the shelves and crashed to the floor. _Not now! I was so close!_ She scratched at his face and neck in panic as she struggled to breathe under his weight, only vaguely aware of the sound of the front door again opening and the muffled crying coming from the bedroom. Carter's forearm pressed brutally against her throat…death seemed inevitable.

A moment later…reprieve. Carter stilled with a hissed curse as he released the tension on her throat, and she opened her eyes while digging her fingers under his arm, unprepared to see the gun held to the back of his head.

"Oh my God!" she whispered. "You're here!"

Carter's eyes shifted and he tried to turn his head. "What the hell are you - "

His last words were left unspoken as the bullet entered his brain.


	23. William Brady

_**"One bastard goes in, another bastard comes out."** _

_– The Good, the Bad and the Ugly_

_**-o-o-** _

_**"Once you've killed four, it's easy to make it five."** _

_– Once Upon a Time in the West_

* * *

Marshall paused for a moment on the trail, checked his map, compass, watch…he knew where he was going, but his brain was insisting on the rote gestures in order to regain focus. For the last thirty minutes he had forced himself to consider every scenario leading up to the buy, cycled through the options again and again, and now he was tired of thinking. There was no way to predict what he would find as he approached Redpoint. No way he could consider every quirk of fate or ill-timed action. Like the cattle drive itself, once the events were set in motion there was only time to react. If you were lucky, and if you planned well, you walked away with a hitch in your step and another notch in your belt. If not…the whole herd could run off a cliff and you slunk away with nothing but a bruised ego and a pile of wanted ads.

He softly 'hupped' Socrates back into motion as he remembered the first time his father had come home after an unsuccessful operation. The old man didn't talk about work much, but a particularly nasty knock on the head had him waxing poetic while nursing injuries on the couch.

" _You boys know why I'm laying on this couch?" Seth's rumbled question was barely heard over the rain on the roof._

_The brothers were sitting on the floor playing gin, relegated to sitter duties by their mother who had run to the store. Marshall tensed. Most question-answer sessions conducted by Seth Mann ended badly when his older brother was involved. And said brother was in a particularly surly mood to begin with, being denied outdoor freedom._

" _The son of a bitch got the drop on you?" Chris answered, bored. "That's what you told us."_

_Seth readjusted the ice pack so he could raise his head and glare at the boy. "Don't swear in your mother's house, son. She can hear you all the way across town." His gaze switched to his silent son. "Marshall? I'm sure you've given it some thought?"_

_Marshall inwardly cringed as he heard Chris' forced sigh. If he answered he was screwed. If he didn't…he was screwed. A hierarchy of screwed-ness. But he'd rather fend off a teen-ager than his father any day. Placing his cards carefully on the floor, Marshall looked up at his father._

" _Either the initial plan was wrong, which I doubt considering it's what you and your team do everyday, or there was an unknown factor that could never have been accounted for."_

_Chris mumbled insults under his breath and Seth laid back on the couch and closed his eyes. Marshall waited. A roll of thunder swirled around the house._

" _God damned dogs," Seth spat, startling the boys. "They had fighting dogs behind the fence that no one knew about. No one. Must've just gotten them. The dogs went crazy as soon as they smelled us and the gig was up. All we could do was damage control."_

_The brothers shared a look, then stared back over at their father, waiting for him to continue. After a minute it was clear he had fallen asleep, exhaustion and meds taking their toll. They were off the hook. Marshall reached for his cards, but Chris was ahead of him._

" _Gin."_

Unbeknownst to Seth Mann, rainy day musings had become a pillar of planning upon which Marshall built every situation. Mary would singsong the phrase as they laid out an operation: "Don't forget about the dogs." Tease him about being mauled by a pack of Chihuahuas during his formative years. He chuckled at the image, sobering quickly, though, as the Redpoint Valley came into view around the bend of the trail. There were far too many dogs nipping at his heels today.

He reined in the horse and dismounted as his gaze swept over the landscape. The barn sat near the creek about a mile away, nestled within the stream-fed greenery and butted up against rising mesas to the north. One road meandered in from the east, the only way to approach the area by vehicle other than ATV. The valley would be a hive of activity within three hours when the cattle arrived, but currently there was no movement. Squinting, Marshall pulled out his binoculars and trained them upon the barn. No one out and about, but there were two vehicles in the parking lot: Brad's truck and the dark colored Mercedes. Cursing under his breath, he panned the binoculars across the rest of the valley.

Movement in a stand of trees about seventy yards from the barn caught his eye. Eliot's horse. The animal was calmly munching grass, rider nowhere to be seen. Marshall tucked the glasses back into their case after carefully re-checking the area near the horse. An odd place to leave your ride if you were going to be a participant in a high risk illegal activity, but a convenient place for a getaway car if you weren't supposed to be there. Marshall was nearly certain Eliot's involvement was peripheral, instigated by his relationship with Sheryl and any information she had passed along. What he wasn't certain about were the man's intentions. Observer? Or did he have delusions of cowboy justice?

Marshall pulled his Glock from his ankle holster and started down into the valley. He'd leave Socrates to enjoy the foliage as he hunted for the elusive wrangler. He was aware of the fact that he was likely at a disadvantage. Eliot knew this land better than he, more familiar with flora and fauna, and his heart pounded a little more quickly that he would've liked. If he was spotted first, well, he could only hope his gut feel for the other man was true.

Ten minutes later circumstance played in his favor. Two trucks rumbled into view from the north, approaching the barn ahead of their trail of dust, and the noise rousted Eliot from his hiding spot. Marshall grinned as he caught the motion out of the corner of his eye. _Gotcha._ Duck walking through inch thick sand was a quad workout he'd not soon forget, and the sweat beaded on his forehead as he reached an advantageous position about ten yards behind Eliot's perch. The trucks rolled into the parking lot with sprays of gravel and Marshall made his move. By the time the trucks were parked, the barrel of his gun lightly tapped the back of Eliot's head.

"Put both your hands on the rock. Now." He was surprised the man didn't startle.

Eliot moved slowly, following instructions. "Will it help my case if I tell you I heard you coming?" He stood perfectly still while Marshall frisked him.

"It'll hurt my feelings, but I don't see how it would defuse the situation." Marshall stepped back a few steps and told Eliot to turn around.

Eliot quirked an eyebrow as he turned to face Marshall. "I had pegged you as either ex-special forces or law enforcement. I'll assume it's the latter. FBI?"

Marshall was in no mood for chitchat. There was activity in the parking lot and he didn't need to be distracted. "Close enough. Convince me that I don't have to shoot you." Not an idle threat. He would rather not, but time was tight and he wasn't going to chance a bullet in his own back. Mary would kill him.

Eliot assessed his intent easily and kept his explanation short and to the point. "The electrician was no electrician. I knew something was going on, and then Sheryl told me about the feds. Some sort of smuggling operation that was going to get busted today." He shrugged a shoulder and glanced in the direction of the barn. "I don't exactly know what I expected to do. Observe. Make sure the bastard doesn't get away."

If he was lying, he was good at it. Marshall believed him. Knew that feeling of having to do something to protect the ones you love, even it that something didn't have a clear definition. It was a better option than wringing your hands in a waiting room. Sighing, he tipped his head towards the wrangler as he tucked his piece into the back of his waistband.

"Stay with me. You're not a cowboy today."

Eliot nodded in return, and the two men snuck forward a few dozen yards to find a better vantage point for observing the barn. The two men from the trucks were standing outside talking and smoking cigarettes. Waiting for something…or someone. A moment later Brad and Jaime walked out of the barn, Brad barked a command, and one of the men flicked his butt to the ground as he scrambled over to the closest truck. He released the back gate and reached under the cover to drag out a young girl by the ankle. She stumbled to the ground and stood hunched and cringing while the man repeated his efforts with yet another girl. They were dressed in sweat stained oversized tank tops and flimsy shorts, barefoot and red faced from the heat. Now, as they huddled together, Marshall could tell they were silently crying as the men converged upon them.

Eliot shifted with a quiet curse, ready to move until Marshall's hand fell upon his arm. "Stay still. They won't damage the merchandise." He could feel the other man staring at him, but never took his eyes off the scene unfolding in the parking lot.

Jaime approached the girls, laughing as they skittered away from him. One of the men pushed the shorter girl towards Brad and all the men shared a joke as the girl whirled and swung at her aggressor. Marshall's mouth was dry with anger and fear for the girls. He hoped his assessment of the situation was correct. That the girls were solely presentation of proof of purchase, and not afternoon entertainment for the men in the lot. Jaime finally snapped at the girls and they now stood still while he stepped forward to inspect them.

Marshall was reminded of a morning he spent at the fish market in Seattle. Boxes and crates of barely alive creatures being poked and prodded and assessed for freshness and other seafood criteria he knew nothing about. The buyers were methodical, brisk and unfeeling, only interested in certain traits and moving on to the next crate when they found the current lot lacking. The girls by the barn were treated the same way by the Mexican. He tugged on their hair, peered into their mouths, patted them down and even looked under their shirts. After walking around them one more time, he turned to Brad and held out a hand. Satisfied. As the two men shook hands, the other men loaded the girls back under the tarp.

Eliot was cursing creatively next to him by the time the pickups left the lot and Brad and Jaime walked back inside.

"There's more of them, aren't there?" Eliot asked, now leaning back against the rock they hid behind and wiping sweat off his forehead.

Marshall copied his pose and pulled out his canteen for a brief sip of water before replying. "Probably about twenty of them, according to the info I have."

Eliot wiped his face with his bandana, methodically folding it again before tucking it into his pocket. Thinking. Finally, he stared hard at Marshall.

"What can I do?"

Marshall turned to look back over at the now empty parking lot and quiet barn. Thought about Hardison's info and looked at his watch before making a decision.

"We've got thirty minutes before the shit hits the fan. I need to get into that barn without being seen, and back out again."

Eliot chuckled. "Covert ops in a desert setting right under the enemy's nose? I'm pretty sure I can help you with that."

-o-o-o-

Sheryl flinched as Carter's body jerked with the shot, the only sound from the gun a quiet mechanical spit. Her brain told her that was significant, but any rational thought was being overridden by revulsion at the thought of Carter's warm blood on her face. Panicked, she began to push at his shoulders to wiggle out from under the limp body. Dead body. _Oh, Jesus, he was dead! Get him off!_ He slumped slightly to the side, but she was trapped awkwardly under his hips. Tyler was crying out from the bedroom – thank god the door was still closed – and she instinctively called back to reassure them it was okay. To stay in the room. Finally, the silence sunk in, and it occurred to her to turn her attention to her apparent salvation.

The woman seemed intent on wiping off her gun, head down and focused on the weapon, and Sheryl wondered why she wasn't helping. Why she didn't say anything. If she didn't already know the woman, she would think that…that something wasn't right. The smell of Carter's blood wasn't the only thing that now turned her stomach as realization dawned.

Licking her lips, she asked the question she already knew the answer to, "You're not Inspector Shannon, are you?" She could hear the blood pounding in her ears.

The dark haired woman shook her head and grinned ruefully while she reached down to search Carter's body. Sheryl tried to extricate herself once again, stopped as the woman reached out to lay her hand on her arm. The other hand now held a liquid filled syringe. Sheryl couldn't drag her eyes away from it. If she didn't look up, didn't meet the woman's gaze, then maybe this could still all be a dream. She could feel a chill creeping into her soul.

"How long until the cops get here, Sheryl?" the woman asked quietly, her voice almost friendly.

Sheryl thought she might hyperventilate. She was paralyzed. _No_. She had to think. There had to be something. One leg was going numb with the weight of the dead man, and she knew that even if she could fight her way free she wouldn't escape. She reflexively stared down the hall at the kids' door before locking eyes with the woman.

"Sophie…" It was a whispered plea. "Please don't kill my children."

Sophie didn't even blink. "I don't do four for the price of one."

Sheryl's confusion was quickly pierced by the prick of the needle in her arm. Swinging at Sophie's head with her free arm, she had time to scream at the kids to get away before her world went black.

-o-o-o-

Mary heard Sheryl's scream as she came around the back of the apartments. Heard the children scream in response and she bolted into a run. _Christ on a bike…what the fuck was going on?_ She had her gun in her hand, dropped the go-bag a few yards from Sheryl's door and skidded to a stop with her back against the hot brick wall adjacent the door jamb. The door was ajar a few inches, an invitation into the unknown that was all the more ominous in the now silence. She tried to keep her breathing shallow and quiet as she turned her head to peer at the surface of the door, listened for a sound to give her a clue as to what lay on the other side. Her boot crunched quietly against the dusty concrete with a shift in weight…a little closer.

The silent house continued to taunt her, and she knew the time for inaction was swiftly coming to an end. Mary squeezed her eyes shut with a whispered prayer and mental summons for Marshall before she lunged through the doorway, the heat from outside following her in and clinging to her clothes while she hugged the wall. The room felt like a church in the middle of the day: bathed in a dim reverence that had you holding your breath so you wouldn't be over come by incense. To no avail. The metallic smell of blood crept into her senses before her eyes adjusted, and with her next breath she caught the underlying sweetness that had her gripping her weapon more forcefully. Head shot. Someone was dead.

Dread was replaced by anger, a protective fury that swept over her in a wave, and Mary slid further into the room with purpose. Whoever…whatever…had caused Sheryl's terror was still in this house, and they would not escape. She side-stepped around the couch, careful to keep one eye on the darker gloom of the hallway, and a tangle of bodies came into view on the floor near the kitchen floor, unmoving and ominous. She stared.

"Sheryl?" It was barely a whisper, almost as if she feared waking the dead. No response.

Nothing else in the house seemed to be stirring, and Mary quickly moved to kneel beside the bodies. Sheryl was pinned beneath Carter, equally still, but lacking the flaccid muscle tone around the neck and face that accompanied death. Placing two fingers on a carotid pulse, Mary sighed in relief as a slow but strong pulse greeted her. She turned her attention to Carter just to assure herself it was truly his brains on the wall…it was.

Mental tactical plans whispered in her head as she decided on the next step. Sheryl had no visible wounds, and she could only hope the woman wasn't slowly dying of internal injuries. She had likely been knocked out in the fight, but where was the gun? A quick visual sweep of the floor revealed no weapon. This kids? Was it possible Leanne had fired the shot while trying to defend her mother? That might explain their continued silence…hiding. Afraid. She needed to clear the rest of the house and find them and then she'd call it in.

Two steps into the hallway and she froze. There was another body. Fearing it was one of the children, Mary quickly covered the few feet to the crumpled form. Her confusion and nervousness only spiked when she realized it was an adult…a woman. Face down and tucked against the wall. Not immediately identifiable in the insufficient light. Suspicion flared and she wasn't taking any chances, reaching out a foot to toe the other woman's boot.

"Hey," Mary grunted, observing the form for a response. "You all right?" Nothing. "Dammit."

The woman was like a piece of cheese in a mousetrap, and every instinct told her to run the other way, but she had to get to the children. Pushing her boot into the woman's thigh a few more times provoked no reaction, and Mary began to carefully slide past her while keeping steady aim with the Glock. No surprises. She finally reached the closed door to the children's room and leaned and ear against the thin wood, still watching the body on the floor. There was a faint rustling from within followed by low murmurs. They were in there. A weight lifted off her chest and she turned to the door.

"Leanne? Tyler? It's Mary, I'm going to come in now, all right?" The doorknob turned freely. "Your mom is okay."

It was less of a sound and more of a disturbance in the air behind her that had her whirling in mid-action to bring up the gun. Too late. Sophie hit her in a low tackle, driving the air from her lungs as she pulled the trigger. The shot went wide and the women tumbled into Sheryl's room and crashed into the dresser. The force of the collision was further disorienting, and Mary lost her weapon as Sophie continued to drive them down onto the floor. The woman was relentless. Fists, elbows and knees flew in a savage battle for survival in the small space between bed and dresser.

Mary suddenly found a pillow planted on her face, and she bucked and stretched in order to tear at the object. A sharp pain near her collarbone, then Sophie's weight was gone. She threw the pillow to the side and scrambled upright, gasping, intending to pursue, but the house began to tilt before she cleared the bedroom doorway. Her legs were unsteady and she stumbled, forced to grip the doorframe as she leaned into the hall. Sophie stood near the bathroom, expressionless and silent, watching Mary's struggles to remain standing.

"What did you…" The words degraded into unintelligible mumbles as Mary's knees gave out and she slumped to the floor. She felt weightless; made up of silk strands that were unraveling into thin air. Her eyes were closed before her cheek met the carpet and the world faded to black. _Shit._

Sophie smiled sadly as she watched Mary flop onto the floor. Mary. Not who she expected to come to Sheryl's rescue. The Glock 9mm screamed 'law enforcement' and Sophie guessed the blonde as FBI or DEA. Definitely government. Definitely bad. Obviously Sheryl played into Brad's drama in some manner and was under the protection of the feds. Obviously Carter didn't know that, and Sophie briefly wondered who had sent him after Sheryl and the kids.

No matter. Checking Mary's pulse to make sure she was still alive, Sophie now had to quickly decide on a course of action and get her ass to Redpoint. She was serious when she told Sheryl she didn't do a job for free, but now that a fed had seen her too…That was just bad luck disguised as charity. And the kids, well, that was going to keep her awake for a few nights.

Fifteen minutes later it was done. Sheryl and Mary were bound and gagged in the closet of the kids' bedroom, Sheryl already moaning as the effects of the ketamine were starting to wear off, and the children both rested on the floor under the open window. Unbound. Sophie stared at them for a moment longer as she fingered the scratches on her cheek. The girl was feisty. She didn't expect to have to chase her through the house. Reminded her of herself at that age: wild and uncaged…dangerous. She had dosed the kids carefully with the second vial in Carter's pants. They would wake soon…soon enough to escape if they kept their wits about them. Closing the bedroom door, she set about rigging a slow fuse.

Carter's cigarettes and matches – _who still used matches?_ – were perfect. Sophie splashed gasoline across the living room floor, the walls, Carter's body, then poured the rest onto the couch. It would take a little time to get to the back rooms. She tucked the cigarette into the match book with about 2 cm of end exposed, and backed into the doorway to light the cigarette. The rosy edges of the burning paper reminded her of too many dark nights, and she was quick to place the matchbook at the edge of the gasoline soaked carpet before making her retreat. Ten minutes to disappear ahead of the inferno.


	24. Brent Long

**_Buckaroo Banzai: You ever thought about joining me full time?_ **   
**_New Jersey: Whatya mean, you serious, do you have an opening?_ **   
**_Buckaroo Banzai: Uh huh. Can you sing?_ **   
**_New Jersey: A little, yeh, I can dance._ **

_\- Buckaroo Banzai across the Eighth Dimension_

-o-o-o-

**_"I woke up in the desert like I'd been dropped out of the sky."_ **

_– Cowboys and Aliens_

* * *

Marshall signaled the all clear to Eliot and waited for the man to join him before slipping into the Redpoint barn. The wrangler was swift and silent, a testament to his military training and likely the terse warning Marshall had given him before they ventured close to the building: make a sound, and Eliot would find himself trussed up under the trees with his own horse. Marshall would've preferred him back there anyway, but due to the nature of the man's involvement he thought it was prudent to keep him within arm's reach. For a number of reasons. Hell, if he didn't think Stan would have an aneurysm, he'd deputize the cowboy. A ragtag _posse comitatus_ of one. He shook off the amusing thought as Eliot filled in the shadow next to him.

A brief, whispered exchange, and then they were hugging the walls of the dimly lit back hallway as they crept towards the stall that held the comm left by Agent Hardison. Dirt floors strewn with straw muffled any sounds of movement, and their passage was only tracked by the half lidded, amber gaze of a lazy barn cat atop a pile of saddle blankets. The men saw no one, heard no one, and slipped into the empty stall a few moments later. Marshall silently instructed Eliot to cover the line of sight while he retrieved the small comm devices from their hiding place. He took slow deep breaths to appease his adrenaline fueled, oxygen hungry lungs, glancing over once to assure Eliot's position as he fit the device into his ear and looped the small transmitter around his neck.

Eliot watched as Marshall pulled the throw-away cell from the nook and turned it on. "You're not going to get a signal out here," he whispered. "Even our two-ways are sketchy."

The man looked down the empty hall one last time before taking a seat on a small straw bale resting against the wall, resting his shotgun across his lap. Marshall had allowed him to keep the weapon.

Marshall stepped over to join him as he finished punching in the access code on the phone. "There's a signal booster hardwired into the phone, and we've got some amplification programs uplinked to the towers. It'll work." He pushed 'send', locked the phone and stuffed it into his front pocket. "We've now crashed the party."

Eliot was staring at him expectantly. "So, what are they saying?"

Marshall listened to the silence for a few moments before hearing a characteristic series of clicks. "It's radio silence right now. They're waiting." He leaned forward to peer out the door of the stall.

"We need to find a place where we can see the office and the main doors to the parking lot," he murmured, looking back to see Eliot's questioning look. "You're with me. In for a penny…"

Eliot grinned and adjusted the bandana he had turned into a headband. "In for a kilo."

-o-o-o-

The dream made no sense. An Indiana Jones-like nightmare of pushing through cobwebs while knee deep in mud as the demons of the dark depths behind her screamed their pursuit. She couldn't see…couldn't speak…could barely breathe. The invisible creatures had reached her, pulling at her hair and clothes as she desperately struggled to find some way of escape. She strained against the sticky strands wrapped around her arms as she tried to yell for help…tried to open her eyes to see what tortured her. The screams were closer now as hands slapped at her face. She could almost understand what they were saying. Could smell…smoke?

Sheryl felt herself falling. Winced as her face bounced off a soft surface, but the blow and reorientation finally woke her completely from the dream. A subconscious rendition of hell morphed into a close-up view of her children's carpeted floor. But the screams continued. Not hers - she licked her lips experimentally, tasting a sticky residue that reminded her of third grade art class – but someone familiar. And the smell…

She didn't get the luxury of gathering her senses as she was roughly rolled over and shaken like a rag doll, hands gripping her shoulders and knees. The voices were back, and Sheryl blinked slowly, trying to focus on their owners in the dim, hazy room.

"She's dead!" High pitched and panic stricken near her knees. "Mom, please don't be dead!"

"Shut up! Just shut up! She's not dead!" Only minutely less panicked and near her head. "She's waking up…see? Her eyes are opening." Hands belonging to this voice started to pat her cheeks.

"Mom! Mom…wake up! The house is on fire! We have to get out and Tyler won't leave without you."

Some primal part of Sheryl's brain threw an 'on' switch, and the situation became alarmingly clear. Children. Her children. Danger! Time to wake up. She focused on the gauzy outline of the figure hovering over her: Leanne.

"Leanne," Sheryl rasped. Coughed and tried again. "Leanne, get Tyler out, now." Sheryl now realized her arms were trapped beneath her. All her limbs felt heavy and slow.

"He won't go out the window, Mom," Leanne sounded less commanding now, more like the little girl she was…and afraid. "I can't make him go. And I can't get your arms untied. I pushed some blankets under the door to stop the fire, but…" A sob hiccupped into a cough and the panic was back. "C'mon, Mom! You have to _wake up_!"

Her daughter started pulling at her, trying to help her into a sitting position. Sheryl did her best to assist, but only managed to roll to one side. Tyler was still crying and coughing and the smell of smoke was only intensifying. What the hell had happened? She had to get them out of here.

Her desperation spurred an adrenaline jolt that allowed her to think and assess. Her wrists were tied tightly behind her back but her legs were free. The room was filling with smoke, and there was a strange, faint crackling sound permeating the air; somehow ominous though she didn't know its source. She could see daylight filtering through the high, open window above their dresser. Their escape. The sound of breaking glass reached them from somewhere else in the house and Sheryl found the strength to move with purpose.

"Leanne, take Tyler and get up onto the dresser by that window," she said, rolling and twisting on the floor as the kids backed up. "Now! Go! I'm coming with you, but you have to move." She watched them scramble over onto the furniture, clinging to each other and crying.

It seemed to take forever to fold up and maneuver her arms under her butt so she could pull her legs through. Finally getting her bound hands in front of her, Sheryl could now attempt to stand. Three tries to get to her hands and knees, willed by the kids' encouragement, but she ultimately had to pull herself into a standing position using the closet door for help. Winded and dizzy, she was so focused on the task of survival that she didn't see it until she was about to turn towards the window. A boot.

A boot attached to a leg. In the closet. Memories from earlier slammed into her, and she had to tightly grip the door in order to stay upright. _Carter. Sophie. Some…drug?_ Fear mixed with smoke inhalation and realization and she felt sick. They were all supposed to die in here.

She was breaking the rules and escaping, and she had to change the plan. Had to see who was in the closet. Legs shaking, she leaned down to peer into the small space. A woman with hands bound similar to her own, and Sheryl squinted in confusion as she recognized the unconscious form. Mary Shepherd. _Why was Mary in the…oh. Oh shit_.

Her jumbled thoughts fell into place while Leanne's strident cries rose in pitch. The timeline of events would never be clear, but Mary must be the marshal who had come to rescue her. Had come just a little too late and walked in on the mess. And now she was slated to die with the rest of them.

"Mom! Let's go!" Leanne yelled.

Sheryl looked over to see her daughter wrestling her little brother through the open window, the child realizing there was no more time to waste, and made her own decision. She would get the children out, but she couldn't leave another human being behind to burn to death…if Mary was even still alive. She pushed off the door and wobbled over to the dresser. Her bound hands were clumsy and slow, but she was able to get both kids through the window. They tumbled down onto the dirt, neither hurt beyond a few scrapes and bruises, then turned to look expectantly back up at their mother.

Sheryl sucked in deep breaths of clean air as she glanced around the area. If anyone had noticed the house going up in flames, no action had yet been taken. There was still time, but she didn't know where the next danger would come from. If Sophie was watching…Sheryl shuddered. Her brain was too damaged and confused to decide whom to trust. She just needed to get the kids to safety.

"Take Tyler and run to the river, Leanne. Run straight there along the cattle path. Keep your heads down and don't stop for anyone." Sheryl saw her daughter's face crumple in fear.

"No! You said you were coming!"

"I am! I promise," she reassured the child. "I'm coming in just a minute. And if I find out you waited for me I'll paddle you both so hard you won't sit for a week."

The threat immediately worked on Tyler who began to tug at his sister's hand. Leanne struggled against him still, staring at her mother. There was a brief, terse exchange of promises and finally the children ran towards the path, disappearing into the brush. Sheryl assessed the area once last time as she filled her lungs with good air. There were no sirens heard, no voices…nothing but the quiet of a desert midday. The window frame shuddered slightly, broadcasting the house's tortured groans, and she knew there wasn't much time. Five minutes. She would give herself five minutes to get Mary out, and if the woman couldn't be saved in that time…well…

A few last gulps of air, and Sheryl ducked back into the smoke filled room.

-o-o-o-

Marshall and Eliot had just tucked themselves behind a low wall separating the main barn from the tack rooms and bathrooms when the main office door swung open and Brad and Jamie Garcia ventured out. They spoke in low voices, unintelligible to the two men hunched over and hugging the wall only a few dozen feet away, and slowly walked towards the main barn doors at the parking lot. Marshall quietly updated the task force via his comm as Eliot carefully peeked around the side of the wall to eye their targets.

Marshall finished the brief conversation as he took stock of their hiding place. A darkened corner of the barn directly opposite to the area where the action should take place, they should remain unnoticed by the players and out of the way of the task force when the bust occurred. He had let the DHS team know that he had a civilian with him, and he could now only hope Eliot would fall back on his own training and follow instructions quickly and without argument. Marshall leaned over to squat next to his companion as he heard a truck pull into the parking lot.

"I can't give you names or specifics as to what's happening, so just keep your head down, keep your mouth shut and stay put." He glanced at Eliot as the man chuckled softly.

"I've given those instructions myself, chief. Usually right before it turns into a cluster," Eliot said, meeting Marshal's glare with a raised eyebrow. "Don't worry, I'm not looking to be a hero today. I got a lady and some kids to get home to."

Marshall relaxed a notch. Eliot was a professional in his own right and intelligent enough to know the score. Most civilians dragged into the middle of the marshals' operations were the very people they were trying to save, sometimes from themselves, and Marshall was too used to incompetence.

The shifting light and shadows near the barn entrance drew their attention to the opening scenes of a twisted drama. Garcia stepped back a few feet and set a backpack onto the ground as Brad shook the hand of the man who walked through the large doors.

"Goddamn Sweetwater," Eliot hissed, apparently referring to the young cowboy now with Brad. "He's been a pain in my ass since day one."

Marshall quietly relayed the name to the task force as he listened to the increased chatter on the channel while watching the men near the door. Their conversation drifted his way.

"The girls are all on board, boss. We can load the cattle whenever the drive arrives," the young cowboy said.

Brad patted the man-boy on the shoulder and asked him to line the trucks up along the road just north of the barn, then tossed a self-satisfied smile in Garcia's direction.

"A well oiled operation, as you can see," he boasted, turning to face the Mexican. "Easy enough to expand my manifest to include your items without anyone being the wiser."

Garcia appeared non-impressed as he pursed his lips and stared at the ground. The cowboy looked uncertainly between the two other men and took a few steps towards the doors. Brad waited.

Marshall could feel the tension radiate off of Eliot as the power play stretched into minutes. The comm crackled with activity, but the two men in hiding remained still and silent, keenly aware of the increased potential for discovery during the tense silence. Finally, Garcia reached down to lift the backpack off the ground as he grinned dangerously at Brad.

"It seems my brother may have underestimated you." He held the backpack close to his body even as Brad stepped forward eagerly. "It may very well be that we could've done business, but now…" he ended the sentence with a shrug and a smile.

Brad's expression darkened and he leaned forward to speak, suddenly interrupted by the sound of yet another vehicle sliding into the parking lot. The young cowboy who had been inching towards the door slunk into the shadows as Brad strode over to peer outside, the angry set of his shoulders apparent.

Marshall processed the information coming through his earpiece as watched the door intently, eager to see the identity of the newest arrival. The task force began closing in as the final participant in the deal walked in out of the sunlight. He straightened slightly as he recognized her.

"Sophie?" Eliot asked, obviously confused. "What the hell is she doing here? Does she know - " Marshall hushed him with a raised palm.

"Better not to know," he murmured, still watching the action. "Things are going to happen. Just hold tight."

-o-o-o-

Awareness arrived in fits and starts, like a timid animal venturing forth to snatch a tasty morsel from the palm of your hand. Almost committing, then skittering back to hover just out of reach. Hesitant, yet stubbornly insistent, it was only a matter of time before it would make the grab.

It was sensation at first, a pinch, a tug, the scratch of material along her face that welcomed her back from the quiet dark. Neurons fired one by one as connections were tested before the power switch was thrown. Taste, touch, smell…snippets of the here and now that intruded on the prior nothingness. Her brain latched onto each strand of reality and wove it into the semiconscious tapestry of memory and dream. There was something familiar there, some recollection of similar circumstance that attached the tassels of fear to the edges.

_She had to escape to fight to run to get away get away get Marshall where is Marshall did she leave him in the gas station bleeding her only friend only friend who would save her it was dark but light and the smell of gasoline and dirt and smoke…smoke...Marshall?_

Another tug followed by a grunt, and Mary felt herself fall backwards. Instinct joined the party, and she tried to protect herself from the tumble, failing miserably as her arms refused to cooperate. Mumbled curses accented with the whine of desperation tiptoed along her nerve endings, serving to further stir her sense of anxiety.

_Stuck stuck stuck I'm trapped in the dark again and they're coming move must move must get free call Marshall to find me no don't touch me don't touch don't die on me Marshall I can't get my hands free to save him save myself…_

"Mary!" Her name focused her attention to the voice.

_Marshall? No. Listen. Not Marshall a woman where was Marshall her hands were stuck but she had to speak to ask…_

Sharp pain across her face and mouth and Mary's eyes flew open in surprise at the insult. The world was an up-close charcoal drawing of faded shapes and she was being pulled into a sitting position by the disembodied voice. Her eyes burned…her lips burned…she sucked in a deep breath and began to cough as now her lungs burned.

"Mary, please!" the voice pleaded. "I _cannot_ carry you. You _have_ to get up, or at least help me. Please!"

Mary squinted at the shape of the speaker close to her face. A woman for sure. Someone she knew? _Yes no maybe who? Where was Marshall?_

"Marshall?" A choked plea.

"Yes. You're a marshal. You're my marshal. And we have to get out of here, Mary. The place is burning down!" Sheryl continued to tug Mary into a sitting position, moving behind the groggy woman after she propped her against the wall. "I'm going to cut this tape off your wrists and we're going to go, okay?"

Confusion was relentless, and Mary could only sag forward weakly as the woman picked at the bindings on her wrist, nicking her flesh painfully a few times before the task was finished. Her arms flopped freely against her sides, the fingers numb and tingling and basically useless. She shrugged her shoulders experimentally as the woman stepped back over her legs to crouch in front of her again. Grabbed the lapels of her jacket and shook her a few times until Mary met her gaze.

_The woman. The woman who looked like another woman in the picture Marshall gave her with the witness a woman. A witness. Marshall's witness her witness?_

Sheryl struggled through a coughing fit and finally managed to get Mary's arm over her shoulder and gripped the woman's jacket tightly. She could barely make out the window as the room continued to fill with smoke, and could feel the heat now. Could imagine the flames flowing across the ceiling like the incoming tide. The hellish image spurred her into action with a shudder. Setting herself firmly into a wide-stanced crouch, she prepared to haul Mary to her feet, muttering a multi-deity prayer for good measure.

"Let's go, Mary. C'mon…on your feet!"

Mary had a smoke induced epiphany as the two women half-crawled, half-staggered over to the dresser under the window, her legs doing their best impersonation of silly string.

"Sheryl?" Mary asked, leaning on the dresser for support as the other woman clamored atop the furniture. Even as her mind seemed to clear, her body refused to cooperate. Her hands left bloody smears on the poorly veneered finish. She stared at them. "What's happening?"

Sheryl pulled a struggling Mary onto the dresser top with her before answering, "We're getting out of this death trap to go get my kids, that's what's happening. Now get out that window before I leave you here to roast!"

Unable to mount a mental or physical defense, and sensing the urgency of the situation, Mary only managed to make her unceremonious exit from the high bedroom window slightly less injurious than it could've been. She tumbled through the opening and hung from the window frame for just a moment before falling to the dirt. Hit hard and fell forward to lay still as the world spun in a manner that invited nausea. The smoke still tickled and burned her lungs, joined by the dirt now in her mouth, and nausea was pushed aside by the massive coughing fit that jerked her to her knees.

By the time Sheryl joined her a minute later, Mary had taken a few deep lungfuls of clean air. The world was making a minute amount of sense, and her leg muscles seemed to be obeying a few simple commands. There were still no memories of how she had gotten here, or why the house was burning down, but she knew she was supposed to be protecting Sheryl. Now, where the hell was Marshall?

Mary was checking her pockets for her cell phone when Sheryl pulled her to her feet again. "We have no phones, no wallets, nothing. She took everything. We need to get to river with the kids. I don't know who's watching. Mary! Please!"

The desperation of a frightened woman was clearly conveyed in that last word, and Mary only stared at Sheryl's soot covered face for a moment before allowing the woman to lead her into the brush. Marshall would find them.


	25. Edward J Farr

_**"Hey boy, you better take cover. I ain't kiddin' these boys are shooters!"** _

_\- Dances with Wolves_

_-o-o-o-_

_**"Now remember... when things look bad, and it looks like you're not gunna make it, then you gotta get mean. I mean plumb mad dog mean... 'Cause if you lose your head and you give up, you neither live nor win. That's just the way it is."** _

_\- The Outlaw Josey Wales_

* * *

Marshall shifted his weight to relieve the cramped muscle in his right thigh and to get a better angle of sight to the main door. The door that Sophie, in the puzzled silence that followed her entrance, was now sliding shut. He cringed with the squeaking scrape of metal on metal as the latch closed, stomach churning with increased anxiety. The task force now had no point of entry nearest the action. No element of surprise as the side and rear entry approach through the barn provided scant visual cover. Of course, Brad and his cohorts had no quick escape either.

"Trapped," Eliot whispered, staring in the same direction as Marshall, apparently also pondering unfavorable logistics.

"Us or them?" Marshall replied. He glanced at the man next to him in time to see a flicker of a grin.

"Depends on who's faster…or who runs out of bullets first, Butch."

Marshall's amusement only lasted for the moment it took him to remember that he was actually _not_ equipped to endure any sort of shootout; ammunition poor, even with Eliot's shotgun. The ache in his lower back reminded him of their poorly defensible position. He glanced at his companion again. He would also bet that Sundance's combat skills were a bit rusty. All in all, three reasons too many to avoid engaging the enemy before the task force was involved. He would consider their situation as a tactical disadvantage…Mary would call it foreplay before a clusterfuck. His musings were cut short as Sophie broke the silence.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen." Her nod to Brad was barely more than dismissive, all her attention immediately focusing on Jaime. "¿Señor Sancristo, hacer esto rápidamente? No confío en este cajonera."

Brad clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring as he looked between Sophie and Jaime. "What the hell is - "

Jaime ignored him to reply to Sophie, "No se preocupe de él. Él es un arenilla… que molesta, pero inofensivo. Y pronto ser muerto."

Marshall's efforts to concentrate on rudimentary translation were suddenly undermined as Brad stepped forward angrily, drew a weapon from his waistband and leveled it at Jaime's head. Three things happened at once: Jaime's driver surged out of the office, large hands cradling a semi-automatic pointed at Brad, Sophie reached (presumably) for her own piece beneath her jacket, and the young cowboy hidden in the shadows stepped forward waving a shotgun towards all the participants. The strands of a well known tune from a favorite Western floated through Marshall's brain as he watched everyone try to watch everyone else. A fleeting stalemate.

"The only one who's going to be fucking _muerto_ is you, you double crossing son of a bitch." Brad's growl rose to a strangled yell, his face red with anger as he stared down Jaime.

Jaime remained calm. Shrugged. "I do not make the rules, my friend. You were convenient, and willing like a puppy. My brother does not let opportunity slip by."

"We had goddamned deal!" Brad shot a nervous glance at Sophie. "What the fuck is she doing here? Who the hell is she?" Sophie grinned and winked, and Brad's face reddened even more.

"This is not happening!" he shouted, glared at Jaime again. "You'll never get out of this barn if you screw me over, Garcia. And Lúcho will never see the girls."

"The girls are already mine," Jamie said. "My men have taken your trucks. It wasn't hard."

Marshall knew the man was bluffing. The radio was abuzz with questions and quick responses affirming that Brad's men were still in control of the trucks. It was a convincing act though, and Sophie took advantage of Brad's momentary confusion to pull her weapon free. It was hard to say who twitched first, but the next thing Marshall knew, Brad was on the ground while his cowboy sidekick fired the shotgun, Jaime's driver fell to one knee, and Sophie caught the backpack that Jaime had tossed into the air. Dust motes and gunpowder swirled into the shafts of sunlight beaming through all the windows, creating a smokescreen worthy of an amateur magician show.

Eliot was trying to get his attention, gripping his shoulder and speaking low and furiously. Marshall couldn't take the time to acknowledge him as he relayed confirmation of the buy, interpreted the flurry of instructions filling his ear from the comm and tried to track the movements of those now beating a hasty retreat. The front and side doors slammed open a moment later as agents rushed into the fray, shouting identification and profanity laced commands to those they targeted. Marshall wasn't sure exactly how the task force had expected this to go down, but he was fairly sure this was likely the last pick on their list. A few sharp reports from a pistol were answered by a staccato of return fire and it was time to get the hell out of there. He spoke rapidly into the transmitter, then grabbed the back of Eliot's shirt and tugged him towards the tack rooms and corral exit.

Eliot protested even as he allowed Marshall to muscle him away from the stall. "We're defensible and I had a target!"

"You're a civilian, we're not in BDUs, and if you fire that gun I'll shoot you myself," Marshall replied over the noise. "You shouldn't even be here."

He shoved Eliot into a dark doorway as the sound of automatic fire filled the air.

"They needed me to visually confirm an exchange, that's it. Now we're out."

Marshall had barely finished his sentence when a figure shot out the gloom and charged towards them, firing wildly. He threw himself backwards, barely avoiding the bullets that instead splintered the doorframe, and tripped over a pile of saddle blankets, landing on his ass as the gunman barreled past the door. He had no time to get off a shot of his own. Eliot scrambled to pursue before Marshall could stop him. He was up and out the door himself a moment later to witness the struggle at the back door.

Eliot had tackled the man, effectively preventing his escape, and the two men now viciously grappled over the control of a handgun. Brad's handgun, Marshall realized as he identified Eliot's opponent. To his horror, the gun went off as the men rolled into the wall. He charged the pair with his own weapon at the ready, not sure if anyone was hit, but fairly certain Eliot was content to keep pummeling the man now beneath him…bleeding or not.

"U.S. Marshal! Stay on the ground! Don't move!" Marshall had no visual on Brad's weapon. "Eliot! Get out of there!"

Eliot heaved himself off of Brad with a grunt and the gun went skittering across the dirt floor to rest near Marshall's boot. He kicked it further away from the man still lying on the ground. Eliot moaned and cursed, pressing both hands to a bleeding wound above his knee. He glared at Brad.

"That goddamn asshole was _not_ going to get away."

Marshall stared down at the battered man squirming in the dirty hay. Brad's face was bloody, his nose surely broken and his jaw probably shared that fate. Blood also soaked one sleeve and the lower half of one leg of his jeans; wounds likely suffered before Eliot had gotten to him. The downed man had been knocked semi-conscious during the struggle, but now he was making a weak attempt to sit up after the wrangler's weight was removed. Marshall pushed him back to the floor with his boot.

"Stay where you are, Christianson. Don't even twitch." The man blinked up at Marshall through one swollen eye, mumbled incoherently, then threw an arm across his face and cursed under his breath. Surrender.

Marshall turned his attention to Eliot. "Is it bad?"

"It won't kill me."

The wrangler's grunted reply was quickly followed by the sound of voices approaching. Marshall held up his badge and called out his ID as agents approached with guns drawn. A few minutes passed before Brad was pulled out of the barn in handcuffs as another agent tended to Eliot's wound, calling in the casualty. Marshall's hands shook as he holstered his weapon and blew out a long, slow breath. He knew from experience that it would take some time for his ears to stop ringing and to restore salivary function to his mouth. But it was done.

Twenty minutes later Marshall still felt vaguely nauseous as he walked around to the front of the barn, squinting into the sunshine. He had no idea where his sunglasses were, and he suspected his hat was on the floor in the tack room. His usual ability to clearly recall the events during an operation seemed to have abandoned him, and he wondered if it was because he had been too worried about protecting Eliot, or if his mind had to pick up the slack from not having his partner at his side. He vigorously rubbed dirt and wood splinters out of his hair, turning his thoughts towards the immediate future. He needed to check in with Stan and Mary.

The sat phones were in the command truck now parked near the two ambulances in the parking lot and he headed that way. Two body bags had been loaded into one bus, the doors now closed as the vehicle prepared to depart, and the other would soon host the stretcher carrying Eliot. He briefly watched the EMTs tend to the irritated man. Eliot glanced up at him and gave a brief salute, and Marshall again thanked God for small favors. As it was, Stan was going to have his hide. Had it gone differently, he'd be burying his career along with a dead civilian. He hoped Mary's afternoon had been infinitely less exciting.

Agent Hardison trotted over, looking grim. "Thanks for your help, Inspector." He crossed his arms and stared at the ambulance now rolling out of the parking lot. "I wish it would've gone more smoothly."

Marshall sighed. "I'm sorry about your man. And I hear the primaries got through the net?"

Hardison rubbed his forehead with a grimace. "The Zeta used Brad's cowboy as cover and managed to slip out the north side right under our noses. She's in the wind…somewhere back in that maze of canyons."

"And Jaime Sancristo?" Marshall asked when Hardison fell silent.

Hardison cursed and spit in the dirt. "We didn't expect Odd Job to pull a modified G36 out of his ass. He laid down fire for a full thirty seconds. I'm surprised no one lost their head. DEA finally got a kill shot, but Sancristo had disappeared. I have no idea where he went."

Marshall placed a hand on the man's shoulder for a brief moment. "It was a good operation. You've got Christianson and we've tucked Sheryl away. You'll at least get positive ID's and a corroborative story. It's better than ghosts and supposition."

Hardison shrugged and sighed. "It's a start. And we also got the girls about thirty miles down the road. We'll get them all processed and on their way home."

"Marshall!" Eliot snagged his attention as he was being loaded into the ambulance, pointing towards the west. There was faint dust cloud. "Here comes the cattle drive."

Hardison shook Marshall's hand, then jogged back towards his team, shouting commands to get things wrapped up. The local police would stay behind to brief the incoming wranglers; limited information with the announcement of Brad's arrest. Marshall headed to the command truck and requested to be patched in to Stan. As he waited for the connection, he saw a deputy sheriff jump out of his car and run over to his boss. The man pointed towards the main ranch, and Marshall could just make out the conversation.

"…huge fire. There's about three houses involved now. The ranch hands are trying to help the fire department get it under control."

An unexplained feeling of dread crept into his bones as Stan then answered the phone.

"Have you heard from Mary?" The Chief's barked greeting only increased his anxiety.

"No, Stan, I have no reception out here. Thus the call on the sat phone." Marshall was equally curt, dread morphing into fear as he watched the Sheriff gather up a few more local cops and head towards their cars.

"The marshal in Tucumcari says her cell is off. He's been trying to reach her for a half hour. She never checked in or called for pick up. Did you change the plans?"

Marshall knew. He knew the fire somehow involved his partner…and their witness. And it was bad. "She's in trouble, Stan. I've gotta go."

Stan protested to empty air as Marshall tossed the phone back to a surprised technician and ran to catch up with the last patrol car pulling onto the road. He startled the officer as he yanked open the door and identified himself, jumped in, and a moment later they sped down the dirt road towards the ranch.

**-o-o-o-**

Mary and Sheryl stumbled through the unforgiving brush, heading toward the river in fits and starts; coughing spasms and watering, reddened eyes making the journey perilous. In addition, the ketamine still coursed through their systems, making them slow and clumsy and at times unable to clearly remember which direction they had just come from.

Sheryl's familiarity with the path and terrain kept Mary from tumbling headlong into the deeper ditches or patches of prickly pear. She kept one hand tightly closed around Mary's wrist, at times nearly dragging the marshal behind her, and suddenly found herself yanked to a stop as Mary dropped to her hands and knees.

"Mary," Sheryl pleaded quietly, "we have to keep moving. We're almost there."

Mary reared back onto her knees and pulled at her jacket. "Jesus. I'm burning up. We need to get further from the fire."

Sheryl looked up towards the apartments, now only able to see the black smoke billowing into the sky. Only black smoke. No water was being laid down on the fire yet. She wondered how long it would take the fire to spread to her neighbor's house…how long it would take before the ranch hands arrived and set up a water relay.

A rabbit dashed onto the path behind Mary, startling Sheryl out of her thoughts. The animal stood staring at her for a moment, nose twitching, and she listened to the blood pounding in her ears while expecting a Mad Hatter to show up next.

 _Late for a very important date, indeed_. She rubbed her burning eyes with the heels of her hands and turned back to her still struggling companion.

Mary could feel the fire at her heels, certain her jacket still smoldered, soon to ignite her hair in a fireball that would consume her in its agonizing fury. Her back burned and she reached behind her to check for flames, only to stumble and fall into the dirt. The sudden change in position caused her head to spin and her fingers tingled as she dug them into the dusty soil.

Why wouldn't her limbs work? Where was she going again? Another flash of heat radiated along the back of her shoulders and she sat up to take off the offending jacket. Suddenly there were hands helping her. Sheryl's voice pulled her back to reality as cool air hit her arms and neck.

"Here," Sheryl said, sounding frustrated as she pulled the jacket off and tossed it aside. "On your feet, Mary. It's not much further."

Mary coughed, punishing her already raw throat, and held up a hand for Sheryl to wait.

"Give me just a minute." Another short coughing fit. "Just a minute. My legs are rubber." She didn't recognize her own voice.

She watched Sheryl's legs pace a dusty pattern for a minute or two and thought she heard the faint sound of sirens on the breeze. Sheryl was back then, grabbing her wrists and pulling her to her feet.

"Your minute is up and my nerves are shot. Let's go."

They headed away from the burning house and towards the trees lining the river. The sound of sirens became real, and Mary wondered if she shouldn't head back to the fire. Surely Marshall would be looking for her, and she needed his help to get Sheryl and the kids into town. Her witness kicked up the pace slightly as the trees grew nearer, and Mary had to focus on her footing, unable to ponder operational plans any longer. One foot in front of the other, and soon she could smell the damp sand of the river bed.

Sunshine gave way to dappled shade, and Sheryl began to call for the kids while Mary tripped over exposed tree roots at the edge of the water.

"Dammit," she hissed, falling to one knee on a particularly knobby protrusion. The deep pain cleared her mind as she watched Sheryl shade her eyes with one hand while scanning the riverbank.

Another round of calls from Sheryl and a faint answer was heard from about twenty yards north. A dirty Leanne appeared from behind a clump of bushes and washed up tree branches, spotted her mother and ran towards the grateful woman. She was quickly overtaken by her determined brother, and Sheryl met them halfway, the three of them falling into a disheveled lump of tears on a pebbly sandbar.

Mary heaved herself to her feet and wobbled towards her charges. It was time to step back into her role as protector despite the circumstances. Sheryl would, no doubt, lay down her life for her children, and Mary could only hope her own presence would keep that from happening. She reached the group and prodded them back towards the hiding spot the girl had emerged from. It was far enough from the path to conceal them, but close enough that she would hear anyone approaching. They crowded into the small, damp space next to the river bank and sank down onto the dirt.

Deep fatigue quickly clawed its way back into Mary's limbs, pulling her down to rest against a bunch of branches and stare up at the sky. The sky was so blue; a hypnotizing cobalt sea that enticed her to just sit and breathe for a few minutes, and the seductive murmur of running water and rustle of leaves soon lulled her back into a dreamlike state.

Sheryl had gathered the children into her lap, whispering endearments…encouragement…bits of sibilant solace that tugged at Mary's heart even as her eyelids fluttered shut. It had been a very, very long time since she had felt so treasured. The words followed her into unconsciousness.

"Tom ho' ichema…love you…love you…"

Mary's dream began with a muscled, jean clad thigh beneath her cheek while long fingers caressed her cheek. _Maybe it hadn't been so long after all._

**-o-o-o-**

Marshall jumped out of the sheriff's car as it slid to a stop on the dusty road, running before his feet even hit the ground. He had spent the last ten minutes gripping the dashboard so hard he was sure he left dents, urging the deputy to go faster as the plumes of smoke took up more and more of the sky and the flames became visible when they pulled into the ranch.

There had been no messages from Mary. No calls. No texts. He had called her repeatedly, only to be told the device was out of service. Not off. Not ignored…out of service. The computerized voice had not been swayed by his demands for explanation, and only pleasantly repeated its message despite his abuse.

He charged towards the scene now, the appalling sight of the conflagration seared into mind as the heat began to seep through his clothes, disregarding the police tape holding back the horrified onlookers. Ranch hands and firefighters shouted commands through the gloom of smoke, barely heard over the roar of the fire and rumble of the ladder engine's pumps. Marshall had zeroed in on the fire chief when he was grabbed from behind.

"Hey! You need to get out of here!" A local cop tried to pull him back. "Get behind the tape."

Marshall yanked his arm free, held up his badge and shouted over the noise. "What happened? Where did it start?"

They both flinched as the sound of breaking glass penetrated the noise. The flames consuming the houses swelled in glee at their destruction, racing along the eaves and up the roof of yet another home. A collective cheer went up as a hose was finally turned on the inferno, but everyone fell back as the water assault filled the air with mist and steam. Marshall quickly scanned the crowd, but as expected, saw no sign of his partner or her witness. A group of women were clinging to each other in tears as they watched their homes burn. The officer leaned in to talk over the noise.

"It must've started with the house there," he pointed at the roasting shell of Sheryl's home and Marshall felt his throat tighten up. "By the time we even got here the two houses next door were burning too. It looks like we're going to lose two more, but both wells are accessed now so we should be able to put it down. Chief says it was likely arson…too hot and fast to be accidental."

Marshall's mouth was dry as he asked the question, "Did you pull anyone out? Was anyone here when you arrived?"

"Buddy, we haven't even been able to get _close_ to that thing. If anyone was in there, they're well beyond crispy now." The officer gave him a concerned look. "Why?"

But Marshall was done talking. Mary was _not_ a burnt corpse in that house…he could feel it in his gut, his heart. He would not believe that until he was forced to pick through the rubble himself after exhausting all other options. His mind raced as he tried to think like his partner. If she had somehow become cut off from her resources, what would she do? Where would she go? But he didn't know the circumstances. Had she even _been_ here when the fire started? A fresh plume of steam startled a flock of birds from the trees and they wheeled towards the river.

"Idiot!" he chastised himself, turning to swiftly stride towards a group of the cowhands trying to be useful at the edge of activity and waved a few over. He didn't realize the officer had followed him until he began to give instructions.

"I want you to search the area along the northwest edge of the apartments. Away from the fire and towards the river. Quickly and quietly."

"What are we looking for?" A smoke smudged boy asked.

"Anything that suggests someone escaped that fire. Footprints, items of clothing…bodies. Anything."

The boys nodded, satisfied with their purpose, and trotted towards the brush. The officer stood still and squinted at him.

"I can't tell you," Marshall answered the silent question. "But I could use your help."

A few minutes later the four man search crew quietly bushwhacked on the opposite side of the apartments from all the activity. They had their work cut out for them, and Marshall's hopes began to flounder as he found nothing within the hard soil, animal prints and unforgiving flora.

 _Oh, God, Mary…don't you die on me._ He squeezed his eyes shut in momentary prayer.

"Hey!" A quick shout by one of the boys now deep in the brush had them all jogging over to his position. He held up a jacket.

Marshall felt dizzy. He snatched the jacket from the boy and quickly flipped it over. It was Mary's, he was sure. It had to be. His deft fingers felt the buttons and he hissed affirmation when he identified the third button down as the button cam. The jacket reeked of smoke, another clue that Mary had escaped that fire.

His conclusion was verified by the calls of the other boy. People had traveled along the now visible cattle trail towards the river. More than one. The men now moved swiftly in the same direction, Marshall and the officer on point with weapons at the ready. He was sure his heart was going to pound right out of his chest, more anxious now than he was at that barn. There was no telling what they would find, if anything. He tried to keep from thinking of the more horrific possibilities.

When they reached the tree line, Marshall instructed the boys to wait on the trail while he and the officer slowly crept into the shade. The river was quiet with no signs of life larger than a chipmunk. Marshall's elation began to wane. The tracks had ended, and the water lapped at their boots while they scanned the shoreline and bushes around them. Had the women (he hoped Mary had Sheryl with her) come upon some of Brad's men here? Had they reached safety only to be snatched back into danger without being able to fight back?

His increasingly troubling thoughts were interrupted as the officer stilled and raised one hand in warning.

"Listen," he whispered to Marshall, nodding towards an area upstream.

Cold water seeped into one boot while he stood motionless, straining to hear…something. Something that sounded like suspiciously like a sniffle. And then a cough that was quickly smothered. Not chipmunks. A child.

A few hand signals later, and the two men slowly approached the tangle of brush and trees that hosted the foreign sounds. Marshall called out.

"Mary? Sheryl?" No answer, but a few of the bushes shook slightly. "Kids? It's Marshall from the ranch. I have a police officer with me. It's safe to come out. Is your mom with you?"

There were sounds of a brief, quiet argument before a small voice rang out.

"Mommy's sleeping!"

"Dammit, Tyler, shut up!"

The curse from the young girl had Marshall's mouth twitching with a grin as he cautiously came around the side of the small hiding space. The girl reminded him of his partner in too many ways. Even with weapon at the ready, he was taken off guard by the rock lobbed at his head. He ducked and it grazed his ear.

"Whoa! Easy…it's okay." He held up his hands in surrender as he took in the scene before him, slightly wary of the ten year old with another rock loaded in her hand. "It's me, Leanne. I'm Mary's friend. We're here to help you and your mom. Please put the rock down."

The girl seemed to deflate, sinking down next to her unconscious mother and starting to cry. Tyler watched, wide-eyed, then noticed the officer and ran over to hug his legs. The man holstered his own weapon and picked up the child, wading over to the bank to hunker down beside Sheryl and Leanne.

"What are they doing here?" he asked.

Marshall, who now only had eyes for his partner who was folded up on a pile of branches near Sheryl, didn't feel the need to explain. He was focused on the scratched and soot covered body of the woman whom he couldn't imagine being anywhere but at his side. He swiftly crossed to her and reached out to feel for a pulse. Warm and strong. Unshed tears of relief burned his eyes as he continued to check her over. She seemed unbroken; no wounds that looked serious, but the soot around her mouth and nose concerned him. As did her raspy breathing.

"Sheryl's alive." The woman moaned softly as the officer tended to her, and Marshall formulated a plan.

"Let's see if we can wake them. Get them moving again." He dipped a handkerchief in the water and began to wipe Mary's face. "Then here's what I need you to do."

It took about ten minutes to rouse the women, and they were sluggish and confused upon awakening. Sheryl settled quickly, checking on her children and talking to the officer while watching Marshall. Mary, however, became combative, not immediately recognizing Marshall and only perceiving a threat based on prior circumstance. He warded off her blows; grunted as she landed a solid elbow to his ribs.

"You know, you really fight dirty, Cowgirl. Someone ought to teach you some manners."

He had a grip on both her forearms now, and she finally stopped struggling to blink up at him.

"Marshall?" her croak turned into coughs, and Marshall maneuvered her into a sitting position, settling beside her and supporting her against his side while she struggled to catch her breath. The fit seemed to jar her back to full consciousness.

He rubbed her back as she spit into the sand and perused the scene. Trailed his fingers along her spine and ribs, needing to feel her breathe and let her warmth seep into his side. Alive. He was a little surprised when she reached over to grip his knee, leaning into him and letting her head rest on his shoulder.

"They'll find Carter in the house," she murmured for his ears. "It was Sophie."

He watched Tyler try to catch tadpoles for a moment as he thought about the timing of the afternoon's events. Sophie, he concluded, was more than she seemed. He stroked Mary's hair as he glanced around the river bed. Sophie was also still out there. The knowledge made him nervous.

"Tim," he called to the officer, now knowing his name. "Time to get moving. You've got the numbers to call."

The man nodded, spoke a few reassurances to Sheryl and the kids, then was off back the way they came. The adults silently watched the kids for while, Leanne at first reluctant to leave her mom's side, but far too curious as to what her brother had trapped in the shallows to stay still for long. The intermittent breeze carried with it the faint sound of sirens, further sobering the mood until Tyler excitedly called his mother over to see his captured prize. Sheryl wobbled to her feet, unable to ignore the pleas of her youngest, and was soon a few more yards down the bank, crouched next to the kids and engrossed in their activity.

"She saved my life, Marshall." Mary said quietly. They both stared at the small woman on the riverbank. "She could've left me there to burn. Drugged and tied up and left to die..." her voice broke and she cleared her throat. Shuddered. Emotions too close to the surface for her comfort.

Marshall tightened his grip and turned his head to nuzzle her temple, placing small kisses along her hairline. He didn't want to hear about what had happened yet, didn't think his frazzled nerves would deal well with the images it would conjure up. Mary pulled back suddenly, tugging at his shirt. He looked over to see her examining blood stains near his collar.

"Jesus, Marshall." She reached up to gently touch cuts on his neck. "What the hell happened?"

He gave her a rueful smile and used his thumb to gently brush some dirt off her jaw. "I've never seen so many dogs in my life."

Mary looked confused for a moment before understanding furrowed her brow and she sighed deeply, dropping her hands back into her lap with a wince.

"What's the bad news?"

"We only got Brad," he replied. "Garcia and Sophie are in the wind, and Hardison lost a man." It wasn't the time and place to include Eliot's involvement and subsequent injury.

Mary closed her eyes and swore under breath, leaning over to rest her elbows on her knees. Marshall watched her for a moment before continuing.

"We still have Sheryl, and the border patrol is on alert for Garcia. He's got to head home sometime."

"The girls?" she asked, now staring at the pebbles at her feet.

"Secured." He thought he saw Mary's shoulders relax slightly.

Gravel crunched as Sheryl stood and walked back over. Stood before them as she sniffled and wiped at her eyes, smearing soot across her nose. "So," she said, "what happens now."

Mary straightened and reached up to smooth her hair, reflexively pulling it into a ponytail, but had no band to secure it. She cursed. Marshall reached into his back pocket and a moment later presented her with a black band dangling on his index finger. He grinned when she glared up at him.

"Seriously?" she asked, snatching the band off his hand.

"What else would I keep in my back pocket?"

The soot on her face disguised the blush that crept up the back of her neck as she busied herself with taming her hair. Marshall smothered a chuckle as he turned his attention back to Sheryl.

"Now it's time to start a new life."


	26. Carl Kalafatich

_**I spent my whole life not knowing what I want out of it, just chasing my tail. Now for the first time I know exactly what I want and who... that's the damnable misery of it.** _

_– Tombstone_

_-o-o-_

_**You must pay for everything in this world, one way and another. There is nothing free except the grace of God.** _

_– True Grit_

* * *

Mary felt like shit.

Her body ached, the Sandman and a few friends had had an orgy on her eyeballs, and her lungs burned as if she was running the perpetual marathon from hell. To top it off, her memories of the events inside Sheryl's house were sketchy at best. Her repeated attempts to recall details only frustrated her, giving her a pounding headache to keep beat with the throbbing in the rest of her joints.

A small, secret cavalry had quietly extracted the marshals and their charges from the river after being alerted by the equally discrete deputy sheriff. Mary and Sheryl had insisted they were fine, but Marshall overruled the pair, stressed the need for the children to receive medical care and had all four of them admitted to a small hospital in the town of Santa Rosa. Away from the hotbed of activity in Tucumcari, and with a plausible cover story to keep questions and gossip to a bare minimum.

Mary had felt a sense of relief upon hearing that the kids were given a clean bill of health, attempted to protest the doctor's orders of overnight observation and medication for her and Sheryl, but was promptly stared into glaring submission by Marshall. He deferred to her irritation by staying with her for a few hours and filling her in on the action at the barn. Eliot's involvement had surprised her. Her partner wasn't one to take outsiders under his wing on an operation, ever cautious and usually by-the-book, and she had to admit to a growing respect for the wrangler with a bullet in his thigh. The wrangler who would be left in the dark and likely mourning a loss contrived to keep him safe. The sometimes twisted nature of their profession had placed her into a foul mood, and she had dismissed Marshall with the pretense of sleep.

Now fully dressed and sitting on the end of the bed in a hospital room brightly lit by the morning sun, Mary half-listened to the nurse's discharge instructions, her mood unimproved. Twelve hours of suffering through medical ministrations had left her cleaner than the day before, but the stark confines of the hospital room only induced a sense of anxiety that had kept her up most of the night. She was exhausted, and just wanted to pack up her witness and head back to Albuquerque. Sort out the details another day.

She winced as the nurse now removed the IV from her forearm and quickly applied a band-aid to hide the insult. A sense of déjà vu enveloped her as she focused on her bruised and bandaged wrists. Years faded away into memory.

_She sat in a blurry haze of light and sound, unable to fully focus on any one thing. Her body had run out of adrenaline, and like a balloon with a slow leak, she could feel herself deflating; unable to retain shape or substance despite a desperate need to exert some sort of control. A quiet darkness beckoned._

" _Stan!" The loud, familiar voice made her jerk in surprise, snapping her back to reality._

_Marshall was standing in front her as she sat on the back end of the ambulance, his expression dark and fierce, and she flinched when he captured her shoulders to keep her from falling over. Stan appeared next to him and she blinked up at them both._

" _Why are these goddamn chains still on her wrists?" Marshall barked. "Get me some bolt cutters."_

_Mary peered down at the offending accessories, feeling strangely separated from her own body while she studied the bloodied links. Jesus, she was tired._

" _Are you going to pass out on me?" Marshall asked quietly, one hand grasping her chin and raising her face so he could look at her. She thought he looked…scared._

" _I really wish you'd go to the hospital, Mare. You were down there too long."_

_She thought of all the things that had happened – had almost happened – and shook her head yet again. "No."_

_Marshall sighed in frustration, stretched his neck and looked around at the activity on the street in front of the small house. Mary watched him and wondered what internal battle he was fighting. Finally, he looked back at her, serious._

" _I really need to know that you're okay. No bullshit, Mary. Are you all right?"_

_She swallowed nervously, trapped by his intense blue stare. There was a depth of concern and affection in that gaze that she had never experienced before. This man had just killed another human being for her, and she knew, if given further reason, that he would hunt down another for the same purpose. For her._

_With clarity came uncertainty, and Mary stuffed the revelation far into a mental corner to keep herself from wanting to examine it further. No good would come from it right now._

"Mary…Mary? Are you all right?"

Mary gave herself a mental shake and dragged her tired mind back to the present as her nurse tried to get her attention.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she said, sitting up straight. She really just wanted to get the hell out of here. "Are we done?"

"I just need you to sign the discharge papers, then you're free to go when your ride gets here."

"And your chariot has arrived," Marshall announced theatrically as he appeared in the doorway. "Impeccable timing, as always."

Mary looked over at him, expression momentarily unguarded, and he wondered at the mixture of relief and fear that flashed across her features before she decided to scowl at him.

"Don't pretend like you weren't sleeping on a chair in the hallway just waiting for a chance to make your appearance," she said as the nurse disappeared through the doorway.

"I did not sleep on a chair in the hallway," he argued, looking around to see that Mary had already packed her things. He turned back to her to see a grin tug at the corner of her mouth.

"No, you slept in a chair in the waiting room," she announced, confident.

Marshall surrendered. "The lobby, actually. The place is too small to have an official waiting room."

"Jesus, Marshall, why didn't you go back to the hotel with John?" she asked, referring to the other marshal.

He gave her a flat stare and she grimaced before answering her own question. "Because I'm in no condition to guard my own witness and there's still two primaries on the loose who know our faces."

"And I thank you for confirming my hypothesis that smoke inhalation and forced sedation would cloud your judgment for the next twenty-four hours or so," he drawled.

"Can it, Einstein," she muttered, slowly pushing herself into a standing position with a groan. "Even _I_ will admit that I'm not running on all cylinders right now."

Marshall had walked over to the window and now stood staring out at the parking lot with his hands in his pockets. Mary could tell he was assessing while he observed. On guard. She walked over and stood beside him to share the view, able to see their faint reflection in the glass with the desert landscape a blurry background. They had stood in too many hospital rooms too many times, she thought. Life, or death, dictating their presence in a place filled with too many faked smiles and false promises; dancing around the truth and afraid to ask the real questions.

"I'm not going to run, Marshall." She could feel his questioning stare. "Part of you is wondering what's going to happen to us now that the case is over and we have to go back to our real lives. Whether I'm going to pretend that whatever happened didn't happen. But you won't ask, so I thought I'd just give you the answer and save you the headache." The long speech made her lungs burn again and she began to cough.

He rested a hand on her back until she caught her breath, then turned her gently so he could look at her. It was the same look from her memories. She forced herself to keep breathing.

"Thank you," he said, reaching up to stroke his fingers along the side of her neck. He was surprised at his overwhelming sense of relief, and her unexpected insight. "And I won't give you reason to."

Mary seemed strangely transfixed and, taking advantage of the moment, Marshall leaned down to capture a kiss. The moment stretched into minutes, and Mary ended up wrapped against his chest, head tucked under his chin. Her hair stilled harbored the faint smell of smoke and it bothered him; another reminder of too many close calls. His fingers tightened reflexively across her back and he grinned when her nearly inaudible hum of pleasure vibrated through his chest.

"Mary," he began, but was rendered silent as she abruptly stepped backwards out of his grasp and held up a warning finger. Raised one eyebrow at his puzzled expression.

"No waxing, remember?"

She turned to walk over to her belongings and threw him an exasperated look while she zipped up her bag.

"Stop standing there like an idiot and carry this damn bag for me. I'm sure Stan is expecting us back by sundown."

Marshall sighed and heeded her disguised plea for escape. _One of these days_ , he promised himself, _one of these days when she couldn't escape, he would wax_. He ushered her out the doorway with a knowing smile as he slung the bag over his shoulder.

**-o-o-o-o-**

Sheryl met them in the hallway outside the hospital room she had been allowed to share with her children. She made sure the kids were settled on one of the beds watching a favorite cartoon on the TV, and had adjusted the volume to assure that the adults wouldn't be overheard. A nurses' aide walked by, and Marshall studied Sheryl as she watched the young woman disappear around the corner. She looked as he would expect: nervous, tired and worn around the edges. He gazed flicked over to his partner. Both women looked as though they could use more than a few days of solid sleep.

"How are you doing?" he broke the silence and directed the question towards Sheryl. "How are the kids holding up?"

She glanced back into the room before answering. "It's too early to tell for sure, but they seem to be okay. I think the hard part is yet to come…for all of us."

"We have some very good child psychologists in Albuquerque who work with us," Marshall said. "I'll make sure to get you in as soon as possible after you're settled."

Sheryl still looked unsure.

"Children are very resilient, especially when they get effective counseling following traumatic events," he added.

"It's not just that," she began hesitantly, studying something behind him in the hallway. "I worry that Albuquerque is too close to home. I had read that witnesses usually don't get relocated within their home state, and I was just wondering…" she trailed off, then quickly looked at Mary. "Are you sure we'll be safe? Really sure?"

Mary smiled gently and reached out to squeeze Sheryl's shoulder. "No one outside of Tucumcari knows who you are, and everyone in the town, plus those involved in the deal, now think you're all dead. They won't be looking for you, and no one in Albuquerque will think twice about a new Native family moving into the neighborhood. It's all about blending into your environment. And if at anytime we think it's no longer safe for you there, we'll move you."

Marshall chimed in, thinking Sheryl's grimace of distress was still related to the choice of city, "It's very likely that after the trial you'll no longer need to stay in the program, and you'll be free to move to wherever you'd like. But that depends on a lot of things, and it's a far ways off."

The woman's dark eyes glistened with unshed tears as she looked at him. "No one thinks we survived the fire? No one?"

He realized the woman hadn't heard anything past that fact.

"Right now, only the marshals involved in the case - " Mary broke off her reply as Marshall nudged her arm with his elbow and cast her a meaningful sideways look.

"I'm sorry, Sheryl," he said softly. "No one can know…as painful as that can be."

The trio stood silently for a few minutes while Mary chewed on her lip and cast him worried glances. He gently tapped her wrist with his fingers to grant her patience. Sheryl wiped at her eyes and tried to regain her composure, taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders as the kids broke into giggles in the room. She nodded slowly before turning her attention back to her marshals.

"I understand. It's probably better this way anyway." She didn't leave them anytime to ponder the statement. "So when do we leave?"

Marshall wondered how long the sadness would linger in the woman's eyes. "Inspector McAuley will be here with the car in about twenty minutes. We'll head out then."

**-o-o-o-o-**

Mary felt her eyelids growing heavy as the car tires hummed along the highway. They had left Santa Rosa about thirty minutes ago, and she had no delusions that she would stay awake for the two hour drive ahead of them. Marshall had gotten everyone breakfast at the 7-11 just outside of town, and even with an extra large coffee burning in her gut she wasn't able to fight the siren song of sleep. A high pitched squeal of displeasure catapulted her back into wakefulness, dispelling any thoughts of slumber.

"What the - " her curse was cut short as a minor turf war broke out in the back seat. Apparently Leanne had encroached on Tyler's "side." Mary shared a pained look with Marshall before turning her attention to the back seat occupants. Sheryl was already disciplining the kids with a few sharp words and apologizing to the marshals.

"Sorry. They've never been on a long car trip. They're just not used to sitting still for this long without something to do."

Mary was trying to remember one of the stupid car games Marshall often forced her to play when her partner took the reins.

"Hey kids," he asked excitedly. "See the group of rocks over there?" Both kids craned their necks to peer in the direction he pointed.

"That's called Dead Man's Fortress. It's a very famous landmark."

 _Liar,_ Mary mouthed at him, knowing there was no such place, and he wrinkled his nose at her in return.

"What's a fortress?" asked Tyler.

"It's a castle, dummy," his sister informed him, then leaned forward to question Marshall.

"Why is it called that? Are there dead people in there? It doesn't look like a castle."

Marshall glanced over at Mary with a grin and wink, then adjusted the rearview mirror so he could see Leanne. She knew that look and leaned back into her seat with a tortured sigh. He was about to launch into a long, likely boring, story.

"It's a pretty long story about many battles between cowboys and Indians and all the ghosts left behind. Do you want to hear it?"

"Do the Indians win?" Tyler asked.

"The Indians never win, Tyler." Leanne rolled her eyes dramatically at her brother's ignorance.

"Actually," Marshall corrected her, "in these parts the Indians won most of the time. This story is about one of those times."

Leanne looked skeptical. "Yeah? I never heard a story about the Indians winning." She settled back into her seat and crossed her arms. "Okay. I guess you can tell it if you want."

That was the most Mary had ever heard Leanne say in one go, the girl having been abnormally quiet up until now. She rolled her head to one side in order to watch the back seat occupants in the mirror. Leanne's eyes were glued to the back of Marshall's head as he began to spin his tale, and her brother pressed his nose to the window to watch the fabled landmark grow closer. A world of adventure awaited them, both in fiction and in reality; lives forever changed by a second chance outside their making. Mary sincerely wished for their new life to be better than the old.

Her gaze drifted over to Sheryl. The woman stared out the side window as she absent-mindedly stroked her daughter's hair, the action probably soothed her more than it did the child. Mary had no doubts that Sheryl would survive, but she wondered if the woman had left more than her old life behind. It was excruciating painful to watch someone walk away with a piece of your heart, she knew that all too well, but she had never really considered it from the other side. Never wanted to think about the reasons because she hated to admit there _could_ be a reason.

The kids laughed at some joke in the story and Sheryl smiled briefly in response. _Two reasons_ , Mary reconsidered.

She was interrupted from her own thoughts as her partner tapped her arm with a pack of gum, offering her a piece as he continued to recite his epic. She stared at the long fingers attached to the small blue box, her mind still traveling down melancholy lane, and suddenly wondered if she would be able to walk away from Marshall. If there could ever be a reason to force that decision. The mental exercise quickly depressed her, and she felt another pang of sadness for her witness.

Missed chances were often never recaptured, and only the truly lucky got a second go at it. She hoped Sheryl's luck hadn't run out.


	27. Rick Ianucci

_**"Baby sister, I was born game and I intend to go out that way."** – True Grit_

_-o-o-_

_**Hogan: "Prayin' for me?"** _

_**Sara: "Yes."** _

_**Hogan: "Well then I must be drunk enough. Damn my eyes, I find that kind of touchin."** _

_– Two Mules for Sister Sara_

_-o-o-_

_**"Hey Sheriff! You forgot your pants."** – Rio Bravo_

* * *

** _Albuquerque, NM - 6 months later_ **

Sheryl stood just inside the sliding glass doors leading out into the back yard and watched Leanne and Tyler dig in the sandbox that probably had more dirt in it than sand. It was a rare, warm winter day in the high desert. Blue sky and bright sunshine rapidly melting any exposed snow. Faux Spring. Its siren call was too strong for the children, and their incessant whines for freedom to venture out into the soggy yard had finally landed on her last nerve. The ground was probably still partially frozen from last week's snow, and she knew the two would return in a short while with cold little hands and demands for hot chocolate. Shaking her head at the misguided exuberance of youth, she crossed her arms and leaned one shoulder against the wall with a deep sigh.

She had grown used to Albuquerque in a surprisingly short time, finding that the faster pace of a large city suited her need to focus on moving forward without becoming trapped in the past. The kids, being kids, adapted swiftly to their new surroundings. Made new friends to bring home from the neighborhood playground within the first few weeks of moving in. Leanne had made the most strides, leaving the sullen, unhappy girl from the ranch behind to become an active and enjoyable fifth grader, and Tyler continued to gallop through his days with dreams of rodeo glory. As Marshall had promised, they had both spent time with a psychologist, and it didn't take long to assure Sheryl they would be fine. There were still a few nightmares, and Tyler's nervousness around fires, but time would likely serve them well.

Her own state of mind remained chaotic. Some days it seemed as though the past had faded to mere shadows, just memories she could ignore for a while as she concentrated on her new life. But other days…other days had her jumping at those same shadows, convinced her cover was blown and certain death awaited around the next corner or in a dark room down the hall. She tried to keep busy, enrolling in classes at the local community college and taking a part-time job at a coffeehouse down the street. Mary and Marshall had told her she didn't need to start working so soon, but Sheryl couldn't imagine just sitting around and waiting. She would make herself crazy just keeping house, checking the street and backyard every half hour for anything suspicious. No, it was better to keep busy. She didn't want to think about the depositions two months from now, the trial within the next year. Didn't want to think about Sophie - or whatever her name really was - out there in the wind...knowing what she was capable of…wondering if she knew they were still alive. It was hard not to think about her friends at the ranch: Maggie and the ranch hands…and Eliot.

"Oh, Eliot…" the sigh escaped her lips without notice as she watched the bare branches of the bushes scratch against the low, wooden fence. Lost in thought…lost.

That pain was still fresh despite the passage of time, and she suspected it would remain that way well into the future. Some days she regretted her choice to keep the secret from him, wondered if goodbyes would've dulled the heartache just a tiny bit, but then every scenario of farewell she could imagine would bring her to tears. And, if he had known, he might have been there with her when Sophie showed up. Somehow she knew Eliot would not have been allowed to live. Knew she would've had to watch him die…and there would've been no moving past that. No, she did what was best.

Sheryl wondered what he was doing now. Had he stayed on the ranch? Maybe been promoted to manager himself? She smiled at that thought. He always wanted to own his own place, but she knew he considered the men at Circle R his family, and Eliot was definitely a family man. Always talked of having one of his own…

She pushed off the wall and pulled her sweater tight around her shoulders as she walked into the kitchen. She wasn't going to think about that anymore. It would just lead her into a depressing mood of 'what ifs' that she didn't need to waste time on today. There was too much to do and some things could never be changed. As her grandmother would say, "Those who walk in the past soon turn to stone in the desert, unable to turn their face to the sun."

"Thanks, Grandmama…I was scared of rock formations for years because of that." Her grumble echoed off the bare walls of the kitchen as she leaned down to pick up the last box that needed to be moved over to the front door.

Mary had called her two days ago with the news. They had to be moved. The marshal couldn't give her any specific details, but said there had been a suspected breach in a security protocol by those involved in the trial, and the marshals could no longer be sure of Sheryl's anonymity in Albuquerque. Of course, Mary described it more colorfully, her contempt for certain members of other branches of law enforcement abundantly clear. Marshall was nice enough to call about an hour later to assure her there was no immediate danger, but that WITSEC didn't have a perfect track record by taking chances.

Sheryl had cried herself to sleep that night, the fragile tendrils of her new life now ripped right out of the ground before they had a chance to root. She had liked the small college courses, liked the little coffeehouse…had even made a friend or two. But, after watching the kids sleep before the alarm went off the next morning, she revisited her priorities. She would pack up the few possessions she was allowed to keep and prepare for the move. Surprisingly, the kids didn't seem upset about the news. She hoped it stayed that way.

Checking the clock on the stove, Sheryl realized they only had about a half hour before the marshals arrived. Time to call the kids in and get them cleaned up.

-o-o-o-

"I know something you don't know," Marshall sing-songed as he wandered back into the office after leaving the conference room.

"What size underwear your grandmother wears?" Mary didn't bother to look up from her monitor as she mumbled her reply around a mouthful of vending machine sandwich.

The scuffle of his boots paused at her desk. She could feel the disproving stare and tried not to grin.

"A robe is not underwear. And she specifically asked for that for her birthday."

"You keep telling yourself that, Oedipus."

Mary wrinkled her nose at his dismissive sniff, saved the final draft of the transfer papers and hit the print key. She sat back and rubbed her tired eyes as her partner continued on to his own desk, refusing to be drawn into her argument.

"While you and the rest of the Mickey Mouse Club held your secret meeting," she said, "I finished all the transfer and security clearances for Sheryl." The whine of the printer coaxed her out of her chair with a grunt. "I hope you remembered _that_ little item on our agenda today?"

"It crossed my mind when I arrived at the office this morning…on time," he emphasized the last words with raised eyebrows and was treated to one of Mary's glares. Undeterred, he waved his hand over a neat pile of files on the corner of his desk. "I believe you'll find Leanne and Tyler's school records, immunization forms and all the new social security cards tucked neatly in with the financial requisitions and clearance codes for D.C."

His partner muttered something profane as she yanked the sheets of paper from the printer and stalked over to his desk. He sat back in his chair slightly, still wary of proximity after all these years. She tossed the papers onto the desk and Marshall quickly snatched one that threatened to flutter off onto the floor. He looked up at her. She looked irritated…and tired.

"You were up late again?" It was more statement than question. Her body language answered his question and he continued before she could redirect.

"Still not going to tell me about it?"

Mary sighed and raked her hair back with her fingers, focusing her gaze on the glass wall behind him. She had stayed at her own place for the last week and, until now, had only offered Marshall the explanation that it was a family matter. He didn't pry, and she was starting to feel guilty about her silence. Old habits died hard, but she felt as though his usual patience might now be wearing thin.

"I'm not trying to keep secrets from you, Marshall." She settled one hip onto his desk with her back to the rest of the office. Illusion of privacy. "There's nothing to worry about."

"You're exhausted, you're skipping meals, and you've been late for work for the last two days." He pinned her with a concerned blue stare. "I'm worried."

Mary nibbled her bottom lip for a minute and watched a small bird peck at the remains of someone's sandwich out on the patio. Her resolution from the night before seemed overwhelming in the light of day. Giving herself a mental kick in the ass, she squared her shoulders.

"Brandi moved out of Peter's place and back into mine." She glanced at Marshall to see his brow furrow in concern. "I don't know the whole story, but I'm sure it's more Brandi than Peter. She's being a stubborn ass, as usual. My negotiating skills haven't seemed to have improved over time."

His lips twitched into a brief smile with her weak attempt at humor. "So I take that to mean she's not leaving anytime soon then?"

Mary shook her head and sighed. "No. So I was thinking…" she trailed off.

Marshall watched her carefully. He didn't want to press, but if he let the gears in her head grind for too long they'd seize up.

"You were thinking?" he prodded.

She crossed her arms and shrugged a shoulder. "I was thinking about just letting her have the place. Charge her rent." A beat, and then she looked over at him. "I believe you offered up your coattails at some point not so long ago?"

Marshall hoped his eyebrows hadn't suddenly disappeared into his hairline. The last thing he had expected today was for Mary to ask to move in with him. Absolute last. But he would put money on it being the best thing to happen to him today. Shock quickly morphed into a version of giddy, and he flashed her a wide grin, relieved to see her shoulders relax.

"Now, what will people say about a nice Catholic girl shacking up with a lapsed Mormon like me?" he teased, standing to move around the desk next to her.

Mary snorted and back-handed him lightly on the chest. "You've never been a Mormon, dimwit. And keep your voice down."

Marshall's fingers crawled discreetly up her forearm and jumped over to rest lightly on her waist as he stepped in close. "But I thought you liked it when I shouted your name."

The elevator doors picked that time to open and the couple stepped apart, blushing like teenagers caught at second base. Mary whispered, " _Idiot_ ," under her breath as she quick-stepped back to her own desk. Marshall continued to grin even as he greeted the newcomer.

-o-o-o-

Forty-five minutes later the pair walked out into the sunshine towards their SUV. Mary squinted and cursed as she fumbled with her sunglasses. The winter sun angled just right at this time of day, catching every mirrored surface of the downtown buildings and focusing its rays on unsuspecting pedestrians. She finally shielded her eyes by the time they reached the truck.

"So what's the big secret?" she asked as Marshall opened the passenger door for her.

"What?"

Mary mocked his song and dance number from earlier as she climbed into the truck. Marshall shut her door with an irritated look and took his time walking around to enter the other side.

"I don't think I'm going to tell you now," he said, starting the truck.

"Fine, asshole. I'm perfectly content to _not_ know what secrets lurk in your brain. So long as they don't get me shot."

Marshall pulled out into late morning traffic and pointed the truck towards the north. They'd make Sheryl's house in twenty minutes and Mary decided to catch a quick nap. Her efforts were not rewarded.

"Don't say I didn't try to warn you though," he drawled, staring out the windshield.

She opened her eyes a mere slit to glare at him. He was gloating. "I swear to God, Marshall. Either spit it out or shut your hole."

He broke into a Cheshire grin with the permission. "There's a little background, then the story gets really interesting…"

Mary groaned.

-o-o-o-

Though the drive to Tucson wasn't particularly long, it also wasn't short enough to keep two excited children entertained the entire time. Or to keep Mary from wishing for an ejector seat switch every time Marshall suggested another road game. Leanne had at least napped for a short while after a late lunch, but Tyler was wound tight with no intentions of letting go. Their late start meant a nighttime arrival into the city, and the nature of the move meant that Sheryl's new marshals wanted to meet with her and the kids asap. The family wouldn't stay in Tucson, their ultimate destination even unknown to Mary and Marshall, but the paperwork and introductions could be finalized and the partners could crash at a hotel without the worries of protective detail for the night.

Tyler giggled at something his mom said and Mary was struck by an unexpected emotional jolt. She was going to miss them. She hadn't become particularly close to this family, but the events at the ranch were somehow embedded on her psyche beyond the typical traumatic response. Maybe it was because Sheryl had saved her life, or that Leanne reminded her too much of herself at that vulnerable age…or maybe her brain was somehow tying a roll in the hay to this family. Surely Marshall could lecture her on the psychobabble topics that applied to the situation on their ride home. And just as surely she wouldn't be telling him about it any time soon.

The truck crested a rise and the city lights in the bowl of the desert below drew the children's attention like a moth to a flame. Even Sheryl seemed to perk up as they covered the last few miles. Mary couldn't help but grin. It was going to be an eventful evening.

-o-o-o-

The kids continued to chatter as the group walked into the county courthouse building, Leanne particularly interested in the two large saguaro cacti standing sentinel on either side of the entrance stairs. Marshall had told her the plants were a protected species, and if you had one in your yard you were responsible for it. If it died, you had to pay a very large fine.

"Like a pet?" asked Tyler.

"Yes, kind of like a pet," Marshall answered. "You don't have to feed it or walk it, but you have to look out for it. Protect it."

"Like us," Leanne said. "Me and mom and Tyler are a protected species."

Mary chuckled and Leanne smiled at her, proud of her own comparison. As he had noted once or twice at the Circle R ranch, Marshall again saw a resemblance between them. A brief spark of kinship. The what ifs of life hadn't lined up for Mary, but maybe Leanne would get a better shot at it. Was _going_ to get a better shot at it, he corrected himself. He glanced up to catch Mary staring at him uncertainly as she waited for Sheryl and the kids to clear security.

"Ready?" he asked, after joining her on the other side and re-securing his weapon. He placed a hand on the small of her back. She stiffened slightly, then took a deep breath and nodded before striding into the lobby.

Sheryl was holding the elevator for them and they all piled in. The ride to the fifth floor was made in silent anticipation, the only distraction Tyler's off-tune humming as he ran his finger along the Braille markings on the buttons. Finally, the doors opened to reveal an office very similar to Albuquerque: a small anteroom with a key locked entryway into the marshals' area. Two men waited for them by the office door.

"Marshals Shannon and Mann?" the first asked, approaching the group with an outstretched hand.

Introductions were made all around, the two men being the new team for Sheryl's protection to the next destination, and soon the tired family was ushered through the security door and towards a conference room in the back. One of the new marshals stopped in front of the closed door and turned to address Sheryl.

"As I'm sure you're fully aware, Mrs. Christianson, there's been a lot of scrutiny around all the players in this case. With the involvement of even more federal agencies, there was a decision to tighten security around the key witnesses slated for testimony. Additional relocation strategies were considered and the final plans were given the stamp of approval a few weeks ago."

Sheryl swallowed and reached out to place her hand on Tyler's head. Nervous. "I understand. I understand why we needed to be moved. Is there something more I need to know? Do I need to sign more papers?"

The marshal set his hand on the doorknob as he answered. "No ma'am, you've been more helpful than we all could have hoped. It's just that this situation is highly unusual, and I hear through the grapevine there were favors called in." He cut his gaze to Marshall for a moment. "It seems WitSec is giving two witnesses in the same case the opportunity to relocate together. Considering it's a strategy rarely, if ever, used, there's no reason to believe it would compromise the overall security of either witness."

Sheryl frowned, confused, as the marshal opened the door with the final caveat, "Of course, we would only proceed if both parties agree.

Leanne reacted first, squealing in delight as she bolted into the room, Tyler right on her heels, his own yells adding to the chaos. Sheryl took two steps forward and stopped, shocked. She reached out shakily to grip the doorjamb and Marshall stepped forward to steady her.

"Eliot…" she whispered, staring at the man who was now hugging two ecstatic and wiggling children.

Eliot looked up from nuzzling Leanne's hair to smile at Sheryl, his grin growing wider when she repeated his name.

"Hey, darlin', you look like you've seen a ghost." His voice trembled.

"How? Why? I mean…what happened? I thought -" She pressed one hand against her mouth as emotion overrode the ability to speak.

Eliot set the kids down, though not successful in detaching them completely, and made his way over to the woman by the door. They stared at each other in silence for a few moments until he reached out slowly and brushed a piece of hair away from her cheek. The gentle touch pushed her over the edge and Sheryl burst into tears as Eliot pulled her into his embrace.

Marshall looked over at the other inspector. "I would call that an agreement."

/\\\\\\\\\/\\\\\\\\\/\\\\\\\\\/\\\\\\\\\

Mary moaned softly as she was pulled from a perfectly unmemorable dream by some sound that was no longer important now that she was fully awake. She pressed her cheek into the coolness of the pillowcase and peered through her lashes at the darkened window near the bed. Night. And very late by the feel of it. The silence beyond the window and the faint red glow of the blinking stop light two blocks down confirmed it. Her neighbor always called it the Witching Hour; when the collective dreams of so many souls could alter fate. Mary snorted softly into the dark. Her neighbor also liked to sit outside on his porch drinking rum and wearing a tutu. Probably not the authority on collective dream states and ancient lore.

Her chortled musings disturbed the only other dreaming soul around. Marshall's aborted snore tickled the underside of her left breast and brought the memories of the last few hours to a delicious forefront. She smiled and stared down at the dim form of her partner draped across her midsection, not surprised that neither of them had had the energy to disentangle themselves or crawl under the covers a few hours earlier. Fun and games had fueled an unexpectedly frenzied lovemaking session that left them both spent.

She stretched slowly and deliberately, shifting her position to relieve a few aches and especially to be able to reach up and disentangle her wrists from the last loose loops of rope attached to the headboard.

"Whoa, cowgirl," came a sleepy grumble from somewhere around her navel. "Planning on hitting the trail?"

The scratch of his stubble on her stomach made her catch her breath and she reached down to run her fingers through his hair. "And where, exactly, would I go?" She asked.

Marshall turned and slowly climbed up her body, pausing briefly to run a hand over a breast as though he couldn't help but touch her. He kissed her chest, neck, jaw...and Mary felt a telling pressure begin to build in her belly. She tilted her chin up towards him as he settled his weight onto her, supporting himself on his forearms. He accepted her invitation with a feather light kiss that she knew was a promise of more.

"That's true," he replied to her question. "I guess you're stuck on this cowboy's ranch now. Shame."

"A rude cowboy who doesn't even take off his boots in bed." She smiled as she ran her hands down his smooth back and under his unbuckled jeans to grab his ass and pull him against her. The feel of rough denim along her naked thighs was just as arousing now as it was a few hours earlier.

He growled and gently kneed her legs apart, his hands now cradling her head as he kissed her slowly and thoroughly.

Marshall came up for air and stared at her in the dark. He ran a finger along her lips and smiled. "I'm just the hired help, ma'am. Get paid to rustle things up and offer you the adventure of your life."

 _I want to know what you ache for…if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive_. The memory of nearly forgotten words seemed to amplify her body's response to this man and she wrapped her legs around his hips to hang on.

"Giddy-up, Cowboy."


End file.
